Barbara E. Young: Blues for the Fisherman

Since the blues ought to be tall birds

wading and wailing 

when the sun dies—

let the blues fill its lungs now: 

the hard-working sun dips 

and folds into the hills and rocks,

and the stars begin to show up 

one one.

As the sun dies, love it with the blues.

When a man dies 

hurt ought to be a monsoon 

moaning denial. When a man dies— 

do despise that peacock sunset,

despise the ping ping emergence of stars,

drown their fluty condolence, damp their trills. 

When a man dies 

let grief swallow the light

and the heron in twilight.

Copyright Barbara E. Young. From Heirloom Language by Barbara E. Young (Madville, 2021)

Barbara E. Young, her husband Jim and their two cats live in White Bluff, Tennessee, near Nashville. 

Great Blue Heron (source: ebird)