Two Poems|John Grey
THE IMMIGRANT’S TALE
How did I reach the wall?
One day I’m living
in this small shack in the jungle.
The next, the battle between
soldiers and rebels razes
a nearby village. I know
there’ll be no justice done.
So, I head north with a purpose.
May I come into your country?
We can discuss the terms on
which I work on your farm.
I don’t ask for much.
Just food and a roof over my head.
Surely you have a love
for all men. Let your kindness
to all linger in one of them.
THIS INTRUDER
Dark trees bend toward
each other’s reaching limbs,
so that the trail beneath
is like the aisle of church
with distant moonlight
as its pale yellow altar.
No stations of the cross though,
merely a hooting barn owl in the eaves
and field-mice darting in and out
of thick-brush pews.
With each step, I wonder
if I’m about to witness
a modern day rewrite
of Eliot’s Murder In The Cathedral.
But the owl, disturbed by my presence,
lifts off in one smooth motion,
flies in search of more secular fare
and the rodents, mistaking me for a predator,
scurry back into their holes.
As always, my presence in a church
disrupts the natural order.
No, the ceiling doesn’t collapse.
But wind picks up,
rustles the makeshift rooftop.
And don’t think I don’t notice.
Photo by Chris Boese on Unsplash
BIO:
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review
