Friday, November 16, 2018

3080. Poetry: When Men Sell Their Souls

By Jamie K. Reaser, 2015-2018
Photo: Jamie K. Reaser

“When men sell their souls,
where do the souls go?”

It’s an important question,
if we want to get them back.

And, we should, you know.
There are good reasons to do it.

I have a deep fondness for hollow
trees, they welcome so much to live
within them: a screech owl whom I
have known personally and, on my
farm, there is an old black locust filled
with thick honeycomb and sweet,
golden honey and so many bees that
the tree hums and vibrates under a
many-lined palm laid gently upon the
vertical-running bark. We keep each
other secret.
But, hollow people, they don’t let
the lovely things in.
I find myself spending more and more
time with trees.
© 2015-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary" (a work in progress)
Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser; Fine Art America
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