The Ground

She was putting something in the ground.

 

The earth was cold just a few inches down and

She didn’t notice her nails crack and split

As she scratched desperately through grit and

Rocks until finally, finally she reached

The softer, easier soil beneath.

 

She was putting something in the ground.

 

She strained to hear the slightest sound

But the blood rushed in her ears until she

Could barely hear. She couldn’t see

Much either, but still she looked and

Listened as hard as she could

 

She was putting something in the ground.

 

And before she could turn around

He was on her, his weight pressing

Her wrist breaking from the twisting

Her breath leaving in a soundless gasp

Her one good hand continuing to grasp-

 

She was putting something in the ground.

 

Joel is Painting

Joel is painting. Standing over the paper. Pools of water sit there, waiting for him to drop in the pigment. And the magic swirls around. Don’t laugh – it is magic. It does what it wants, and he coaxes it along. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. He twirls his magic wand. Sometimes it obeys. Sometimes it gets away and dances everywhere.

Joel is all about letting things do what they want. He doesn’t boss. But don’t expect him to stop you if you decide to do something dumb. He’s gonna come along for the ride. He’ll be right there with you. In it, beside you.

I’ve probably not heard all of his stories yet, but I’ve heard a lot of them, and I can assure you, there’s a theme. He’s usually with somebody who’s decided to do something crazy, and he’s right there, doing it, too.

I’m always worrying about everything. “You worry too much,” he declares, and I think, Yeah, somebody better worry. But it gets in my art. I can’t let go of the controls. That’s why I like to draw – there’s so much control. Then I add a little watercolor and everything goes nuts. “That’s what I like,” Joel says, and I think, I know.

Pulled

You lean in, lips almost

Touching my ear

Your whisper

Humidifying my hair

And every one of my

Individual molecules

Strain toward

You

All of me aching

To get closer

Every drop of water

That makes up

Me

Tries to bead on

My surface

I have to use my

Higher brain

To control the

Reptile part

To remain civilized

Against my body’s will

It reminds me of playing

In the garden as a child

The irrigation water

Rushing past cornstalks

Washing iron filings up

In the Colorado sand

I could gather scads of

The black, hairlike filings

With a magnet

Held inches away

They would leap

Through thin air

Pulled helplessly

Just like me

To you