My brother’s father-in-law, mid-nineties,
heard from his stalwart old California
high school how an athlete there recently
broke his 100-yard-dash record, a
rock that stood since the ’30s. He travelled
back to Sonoma Valley, was honored
by their prep hall of fame. Time has gaveled
him guilty of age, stolen his eyes, bled
him of his golf skills. His mountainous soul,
saint sensing all good in our universe,
settles him near his nursing-home window,
listening for swallows as they converse
at feeders his daughter hung from tree limbs,
the birds’ chirping calls like soft fairy hymns.
Roger Armbrust
February 16, 2011
