Ben Bentele
.
cut
me a cake
of firefly night
smothered
in cicada
gravy
.
BELTANE
To lay in the shade
or bask
in the sun?
Well what are you below?
What bark is your back against?
It's just me
& the bumble bee
& a blossomless plum tree
Too old
to bear fruit
But not too old to ask:
Would you graft with me?
& Bear pears
not plums?
For on this evening
I am rather tough skinned
Until you peel me
& ask questions like:
Have you ever touched a lacewing's underwing?
I have not
But wondered so
In the full sun of a sunset
With nothing much to do
& nowhere much to go
Finding breath
for a season's century
HARVEST HANDS
The sound of pears dropping
of corn & sorghum rustling
When September is still the clatter
of grasshoppers
& harvest is husky on the breath
There are does
in the orchard rows
showing fawns their first apples
They know: Mornings will soon be crisper
than a honeycrisp
But it’s hot today
& I remark on the way
tomatoes carry their precious cargo
Safe from the September sun
Their scent & grime
almost tastier than a tomato
& I imagine:
As an old man
I could pick peppers blind
Could tell too the dew
& prickle of a tender squash
But the sun gets to be too much
& your friends know
& they can
& you sort
In the guest bedroom filled
with dill heads & tulsi
& there
Covered in the sweet pungency of seeds
Seed on seed
Grist against grist
Threshing the chafe from off my chest
a peace
a prayer
to harvest
BISCUITS & GRAVY
I don't like ice
In my water
Especially not in winter
But I forget to say so
& in the Midwest
It is a common courtesy
To serve ice water
All year round
& I need to remember
To say something
Because yesterday
The confederate flag
Curtsied on the Capitol
& I am culpable:
For I am served gravy in this country.
An apple is enough
Teach me not to waste it
The cricket’s song will come to pass
Teach me not to waste it
You were once a butterfly in my garden
Teach me not to waste it