The Home of the Heartby David Matthews

When last I was home, I stopped by
The church of my childhood
To be for a moment again
With the ones who are gone —
Buzzards, in a line perched
On the steeple above the red door,
Looked down on the graveyard below
And corn field beyond green
And shooting skyward in the spring
And gleam of the glistening sun —

I want to run like when
I was nine years old and
Sweat poured from me —
We chased balls, each in its season,
With grim and determined delight —
I lived even then in books
More than among friends
And took so much for granted
That has disappeared
All swallowed up in time —
I am amazed how
Much of it remains with me —

Through the hours of this day
And darkness of my night
When everything is thrown
Out of joint, I am astounded too
My little poems remain —
The moon in a flowered skirt
With a suggestive slit
Way up her shapely thigh —
A mountain with a great, green beard
And goof smile like an old and holy man
Come all the way from China
With a zafu strapped on his back —
A violinist whose fingers burn
The way a poem, a painting,
A concerto burns memory
Into my fevered brain —

Chance rhyme and metaphor,
An axe wedged in a block of wood,
Icy wind scatters oak leaves
At the dark end of this brief winter day
We think of as life — Born
Of books and romance
Immensity of sky
The passing of all things
The tenderness of your touch
And learning too late too little of love,
What are poems next
Everything that is gone
And so much that never was?
I long to bring it all back home —
A shard of memory that lies
With those bones in the red earth and
Shadow of that little church on the hill —

Today I linger in the maple shade
And memory of your so beautiful eyes
And the impossible belief in me
Held for one bare moment in this
Chorus of eternity and ending —
We are redeemed — such as we are —
By kindness — Your welcome of me
Into the home of your heart
Is much part of all that beauty
These little poems hold dear
For whoever among us
May notice — and remember —
With each breath that quivers
The spring air —

Comments

[Bryan]

Excellent. I feel like anything I could say would not be good enough so I'll just say I enjoyed it.

[Felicia]

Today I linger in the maple shade
And memory of your so beautiful eyes
And the impossible belief in me
Held for one bare moment in this
Chorus of eternity and ending —
We are redeemed — such as we are —
"By kindness — Your welcome of me
Into the home of your heart
Is much part of all that beauty
These little poems hold dear
For whoever among us
May notice — and remember —
With each breath that quivers
The spring air —"

Beautiful!

[Robert]

Enjoyed.

[Tom Berman]

Unpretentious and very moving.
We aging poets should stick together!

[David Herrle]

"And learning too late too little of love"

Bravo!

A nicely obsessive, desperate hymn to pasts and ends.

[Dhani]

Pulsating & despondent.