The Ordinary Times

Found

A poem my aunt wrote for me 5 years ago after my first (and next to last) poetry reading:

POEM FOR MY NEPHEW

The stone set quiet against the green,
And the young poet, in garlands,
Pleased as any stag or ox.
The priesthood smiles
Waiting for the rush of blood.

But no, that was
An age ago. The crowds
Had beat the square to dust beneath their feet,
And danced in great chains, spilling half the wine.

Now it is a lonely thing
A man, a rock, the wind,
Remembered notes of but a single flute.

How will he learn, then, to shake his horns, consenting,
And come whole from the madness of the God?

-Kathleen Piper