Byron Sonnier, Untitled, 2015
Acrylic on found photo
thus saith this red clay
this pea gravel dust —
an old man can still be called gentle
with a crooked thumb
and a cigar box of shame
after pulling his boys out of school
whipping them in midday heat
for the slack-jawed cow’s
wandering through an open gate
not knowing its meat locker
of a body strolled through
a broke down spot of fence
and into the unsealed landscape
his sons — fathers too now —
will attest to his fullness
they can point out
the sno-cone stand with a rotting porch
where he treats his grandboys
to imitation peach syrup
and what else needs to be said?
what you want he wants too
this desire constant and
delicate as the lake bottom,
essential as bottle-feeding
the orphaned calico in the carport
look at the way he gets teary-eyed
at the sight of barbed wire
come unmended
his tenderness a ring of trees
how could you see that
and not love a man?
not look out at a field
of aged dandelions
the color of his hair
and feel the same?