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Saturday, September 19, 2020

Too Tiny, Too Large

James Lee Jobe
—Poetry by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
 
 
 
It is the very moment of dawn and you are in a winter forest. You are rich in cedar, pine and fir trees. First light filtering through the green of the branches, first light on the snow of the forest floor. A world of white and green. Clean, fresh. Every breath is a delight, like the laughter of a child. Your footsteps make a crunching sound in the snow.
 
 
 
Alex Lee-Jobe, Wife
 
 

My wife will never catch the mouse that lives under our jasmine. Ssssh! She doesn’t know that I leave him the old birdseed when I refill the bowls for our birds, or that I warn him with a stomp when she is coming. The jasmine is lovely and smells so nice, and we all live here.
 
 
 
Pico Verde Jobe, Conure and Friend
 


We are those tiny people who live at the edge of the lawn. Whose lawn? I don't know, so that can't be right.

We are giants stomping across the cornfields of Iowa, dragging a wounded foot through the broken stalks. No, I don't like that one either.

We're too tiny in one world and too large in another. It's a hard life sometimes, figuring out which world you're in, and what you should do about it. Still one day follows the next, in order. It's after that when the chaos begins.

Chin up. Just do your best. There's really nothing to explain anyway.
 
 
 
George Floyd
 
 

If your skin is dark you might get murdered in this country. By the police. By your neighbors. Remember the rabbit that didn’t get away? Remember the dove whose song was so sad? There for a moment, then gone. Rubber bullets, lead bullets. Tear gas. A noose. Maybe a choke hold, or a knee on your neck; death without breath. A plea in your eyes when your voice has been silenced. Righteousness does not live here and it never did. Not for you. Justice is only a concept when it does not exist. If your skin is dark you might get murdered in this country. People with pale skin will mutter that you had it coming. They’ve been muttering it for centuries.
 
 
 
Coronavirus
 
 

In the time of COVID we washed our hands with the spittle in the air and prayed for death. We touched our eyes and waited for death or a ventilator, whichever came first. We recorded the number of deaths but not the names of those who died.

The names of the dead were written somewhere with invisible ink, but no one knows where. If someone does have that knowledge, they have never admitted to it, and who could read invisible ink anyway?

In truth, many people prayed for life, but we also failed to record their names, and there was no god to answer such prayers. Death was everywhere.

In the time of COVID the televisions worked just fine, and computers streamed concerts and videos. You could get anything delivered to your home except cheer. We ate pizza and cut our own hair and stared at social media until it invaded our dreams.

Many of us now distrust social media as much as we distrust the spittle for its infection, as much as we distrust the fools who lead us. Indeed, is there any leader worthy of trust? Spit for me and I will spit for you, then we can wash our hands again.

In the time of COVID we shaved our bodies and covered ourselves with oil. Naked, we rubbed against each other until we screamed and our house pets screamed along with us, not understanding.

Or perhaps I am wrong, and house pets understand more than they let on. Perhaps they find the sounds of human orgasm to be funny.

In the time of COVID the police continued to murder Blacks until riots overtook our cities and dumpster fires lit the night; the sound of police sirens was a symphony of horror, a symphony of fear.

Even now we can hear the music starting all over again. Even now it is the time of COVID.

______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Imagine this: that everything good and natural is interconnected and sacred. All of it.

—James Lee Jobe

______________________

Our thanks to James Lee Jobe this morning for powerful poems and for photos to match! And don’t forget Fridays, 7:30pm: Video poetry readings on Facebook by Davis Poet Laureate James Lee Jobe at james-lee-jobe.blogspot.com or youtube.com/jamesleejobe.

______________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
Sri Lanka, Roots
—Public Domain Photo
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



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