Wednesday Poem

Plea to a Particular Soft-Handed Goddess

Where there are no streets
the world is less remembered,
and hypotheses are lean and scattered.

I kneel before a pine-tree-standing;
listen to the locust-singing of my soul;
hope for a brimful of some sort.

I pray for raindrop ablution;
for embodiment of sandhill dreams;
for a scheme to end

this bughouse commotion;
these spasms of faddism.
The question is:

how to work out a pardonable truce
between one’s honest opinion
and the official attitude.

…… What I really want is for you
…… to come and stand beside me
…… and probe with pagan tenderness

…… Beyond my bone weight
…… until you find a forgotten disclosure
…… like the surprise of my being.

by Parm Mayer
Heartland; Poets of the Midwest
Northern Illinois University Press, 1967