Marvel at Him
By Scott LaMascus

 

Sometimes boys bloom out of season,
as do century plants who hold their buds
deep inside and wait the right moment.

 

We called him our late bloomer!,as if we knew
what secret lurked inside, folded between mystery
and power of forces we yet cannot name.

 

What held back that bud? What moon calls it forth?
What work of root and stem grow until blossoms
appear after all those years of bad teeth and skin?

 

Do these century plants store up against future
drought or do they fight fierce, old doubts tangled
among their roots? Our humiliations pile on as we dare

 

judge which is which. Instead, marvel at him
carrying some burden we do not know, waiting midnight—
then bursting of joy into blooms for moonbeams alone!

 

 

What Atonement Do I Seek?

 

What saves me and eats me
is the word I eat, too.

 

I am St. Ignatius of myself, the raven
perched on its own shoulder
devouring myself, beak by full beak.

 

I want to soar on effortless wings.
I want banking views of sky and earth
to lift my flock’s spirits.

 

I want to perch on my craggy nest
with morsels for our chicks.

 

I want to disappear into the dark maw,
each gulp my eucharist and disappearance,
leaving the echo of hosanna from each kaw
in my vanishing song beyond words.

 

Scott LaMascus from US is a writer and public-humanities advocate in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA, where he founded the McBride Center for Public Humanities to host free events with writers including David Grann, Bryan Stevenson, and Marilynne Robinson. He is a fifth-generation Oklahoman from two families of sharecroppers and agriculture laborers in Oklahoma. His MFA is from Antioch University in Los Angeles. Recent work may be read at World Literature Today, Red Ogre Review, and The Writer's Chronicle.