Vox Populi

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Michael T. Young: The Gift

What Feeds Us
In a sunbeam that wraps 
the top branch of an ash tree,
my God is what feeds its color 
even through snow and ice.
In a spindrift that flakes 
the seaside canna phasion, 
hundreds of magnifications 
of its yellows and reds, he
is the quench that reaches to its roots,
feeding it from before history.
He is the satisfaction of hunger
the food brings, and sometimes 
arrives without it, on wings 
invisibly landing at my window
to sing me to sleep 
on nights when I’m alone. 

The Long Debate
Each moment buries itself, then resurfaces
from the skin in a slow spindrift of dust.
It’s the reason for wrinkles and wisdom,
it’s the way the past plots stepping stones
into the future and time is a precarious
balance along laundry lines, dividing waste
from wonder. The ocean therefore
is not a narrative, and between
its frolicking peaks, I’m rocked into fields
of a lyrical witness, history rolls over
glittering in sunlight as it never can
during our long marches over hills
or on our vacations along the beach
where we lounge and grow weary
of the sun’s endless, heated arguments.


Nothing I Do
I drew a picture of someone waving
and sent it to everyone I know,
meaning, “hello.” 
But it was taken to mean “goodbye.”
And that’s the problem 
with picturing God.
The greatest thing I can imagine
is a God greater than anything
I can imagine. 
He’s there behind every door, 
waiting for me to stop 
and accept the gift. 
The door won’t open until I do.
And nothing I do 
opens the door. 
He will never leave or stop waiting
and the gift will outlast
every gravestone.

Copyright 2019 Michael T. Young

Michael T. Young’s third full-length collection, The Infinite Doctrine of Water, was published by Terrapin Books. He lives with his wife and children in Jersey City, New Jersey.

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This entry was posted on December 24, 2019 by in Poetry and tagged , , , , , .

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