Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Kim Ports Parsons: May the Particles of My Body Travel the Endless Conduits
My father came to me in a dream
a week after he died, knocked on the front
door and grinned in the summer night air.
He glowed from some unseen, amber neon.
Everything is fine, he said. I wanted
you to know. Then a beam of light, bright
and cool, just took him, carried him down
the road like high beams sliding a bedroom wall,
a shadow’s opposite.
Home in dreams
is the house on the hill, trouble is the Sunday school.
Tonight, the moon taps me on the shoulder,
floating in an unmoored boat, my mind rocked
awake. I used to argue with the teacher.
His name was Vernon, which means “alder grove.”
He insisted God was an old, bearded white man
on a cloud, I swear to you, and we were made
in his image. He’s buried just feet from our family stones.
When I die, lay me in the loam under the big oak
on the path through the woods, deep down in the endless
flow of talk among the trees there, from the centurion
to the saplings. Sometimes I sense it passing under
my feet there, like a bird overhead on a bright day,
but in reverse. May the particles of my body
travel the endless conduits.
I wish I had the right words
to part the sea of all the nonsense and save us all
from drowning. Quiet those commandments.
Press my ear to earth and listen hard.
A network of souls whisper, and the dark matter stretches,
an infinite stream we swim and swim.
That’s one image from which we’re made, Vernon.
The alder grove’s another. Try to remember
what cannot nor ever will be named.
All that we are is this river of light.
-----
Copyright 2022 Kim Ports Parsons. From The Mayapple Forest (Terrapin Books 2022).
An avid reader, gardener, and birdwatcher, Kim Ports Parsons often hikes with her
husband Doug and hound dog Sadie in nearby Shenandoah National Park. She
is the author of The Mayapple Forest.
Virginia Live Oak. Daniela Duncan / Getty Images
Vox Populi 
Ah! 💖
LikeLiked by 1 person
lay me in the loam…deep down in the endless flow of talk among the trees there…
reading this stunned me into a new awareness. Thank you. And yes, so many Vernons.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, T–
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I do too, Robbi.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So glad–thank you, Robbi!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Special thanks for this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, HAT. I love the poem as well.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for taking time and sharing your appreciation!
LikeLiked by 2 people
What a poem — what gorgeous and powerful associative leaps. I love this.
LikeLike
I love it as well.
LikeLike
Thank you so much, Loranneke.
LikeLike
Yes, indeed. This poem spoke to my own doubts and struggles. Trouble is Sunday School. “I wish I had the right words
to part the sea of all the nonsense and save us all
from drowning.” So many Vernons out there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, dogma gets in the way of authentic spiritual experience, in my opinion.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Rose Mary, for your time and your kind and thoughtful response.
LikeLiked by 1 person