December 2017
j.lewis
jim.lewis@jimbabwe.com
jim.lewis@jimbabwe.com
I am a poet, musician, and nurse practitioner. When I am not writing, composing, or diagnosing, I love paddling out on my kayak, exploring and photographing the waterways near my home in California. My first book of poetry and photography “a clear day in october” (http://www.egjpress.org/products/a-clear-day-in-october ) was published in 2016 by E&GJ Press. A chapbook is forthcoming from Praxis Magazine later this year.
pigs in the attic
childhood is pretending
a world of imagined friends
all better than our real ones
never angry, bitter, or gone
and in the dull, endless stretch
of the navajo reservation
even pigs were pals
the pigs my father bought
boar and sow together
with the firm intent of
inviting their children to dinner
became my newest playmates
though i said nothing aloud
for anyone to hear
daddy, mommy, piglets six
each with a name and place
in the story of my desolation
comrades in the war i waged
on my greatest unseen enemy
a shapeless, consuming sadness
that daily growled after me
the board game came one christmas
with rules i quickly rewrote
to welcome the handful of plastic
pigs instead of dice
i never let them land
on back or side or snout
when life shook them, threw them out
they always finished firmly on their feet
the way i dreamed i would someday
someday
reservation days disappeared
with a move back to the city
toys wore out, were boxed, forgotten
until this moment in the attic
sorting what was left
of someone's life
from the corner of a rotting box
a single piglet tumbled out
hit the floor and bounced a bit
before settling naturally,
solidly, on all fours
he whispered to the child in me
what i had taught him years ago—
no matter how life shakes you out
you face it standing up
pigs in the attic
childhood is pretending
a world of imagined friends
all better than our real ones
never angry, bitter, or gone
and in the dull, endless stretch
of the navajo reservation
even pigs were pals
the pigs my father bought
boar and sow together
with the firm intent of
inviting their children to dinner
became my newest playmates
though i said nothing aloud
for anyone to hear
daddy, mommy, piglets six
each with a name and place
in the story of my desolation
comrades in the war i waged
on my greatest unseen enemy
a shapeless, consuming sadness
that daily growled after me
the board game came one christmas
with rules i quickly rewrote
to welcome the handful of plastic
pigs instead of dice
i never let them land
on back or side or snout
when life shook them, threw them out
they always finished firmly on their feet
the way i dreamed i would someday
someday
reservation days disappeared
with a move back to the city
toys wore out, were boxed, forgotten
until this moment in the attic
sorting what was left
of someone's life
from the corner of a rotting box
a single piglet tumbled out
hit the floor and bounced a bit
before settling naturally,
solidly, on all fours
he whispered to the child in me
what i had taught him years ago—
no matter how life shakes you out
you face it standing up
© 2017 j.lewis
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