Cardboard Sliding With My Brother Paul - Jack Crimmins

[Larry Robinson]

Cardboard Sliding With My Brother Paul

There's no getting past it.
The death that is near.
The solemn fragrances
as if butterscotch
was a lost memory, 
returning. 
Grace is a notion of
wholeness and hope. 
I dreamed last night
I introduced my brother
to Muhammad Ali.
Said to Paul, when he
went to hug Ali,
we're fist bumping now.
The world is never safe.
Though I held her,
and her. The smell of 
wild licorice. Then dry grass,
subtle, in the Terra Linda hills. 
Used to go cardboard 
sliding with my brother.
Down, down, over rocks
and stones, yes, but mostly
soft tall grass pushed flat
in view of Mount Tam.
Laughing, thrilled. 
I'm so thankful for oak trees.
I can't tell you, even.
Buzzards and red tailed hawks
as visions, as magic, as real life.
My brother will stay nearby,
this is how I think of it, 
even when he leaves, dies.
The summer air of our blessed,
lucky, lives. Air rising through 
the window, into the house, 
on the wind. The fragrance 
of loss, of new beginnings. 
Picking blackberries off the vine. 
My brother has loved Hilary,
and their kids, with a pure heart.
Paul has always liked to feed carrots, 
out back, to the horses next door in the field.

      - Jack Crimmins 






"Be joyful though you have considered all the facts."
    - Wendell Berry