Printer Friendly

The Terms of My Conversion.

I
 Summoned by the spirit that summer I slipped out back into the woods,
Snapping off the fanning branches I arrayed on the altar in our cellar--
The tablecloth-draped box Covered with candles and the leafy display I
was suddenly wild to worship.
II
     You'll set the house on fire!
My stepmother screamed, put those candles out,
Dousing the whole ceremony, But not that wakened pagan sense of things
Which has never since quit me, The god in the Gnostic gospel Like the
soul inside the tree.
III
A few years later the woods were sold, Clear-cut for one of those tract
Suburban cul-de-sacs, split-leveled And sectioned into lots. It looked
to me Like a patch of skin shaved around An incision, raw and what
I'd now call Glairy, the sutures all tied off. 
COPYRIGHT 2010 University of Nebraska Press
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2010 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Gibb, Robert
Publication:Prairie Schooner
Article Type:Poem
Date:Dec 22, 2010
Words:176
Previous Article:Words for the Fox.
Next Article:What the River Carries.
Topics:

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2019 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters