“Stumped” by Mari-Lou Rowley

of course a poem
demanded
sit down and write me

look west
into the sunset
blind your eyes while you’re
at it you have no idea

what I went through
for that churlish
church the incantations
of penitents oblivious to birds

but yet some residue
of prayer like larvae would
stick to the bark
weevil its way
into my heart
wood wrap weather
whip it up wet hot
or frigid gale

something cracked
as it always does
so one fine morning in April
much like this
they got out the chain saw and hacked
me to firewood

but one old oblate
said leave me the stump
to gnaw upon my teeth are gone
but my hands need wood
and these bones need a resting
place

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