Appleton, WI

April 6: Day by Day with Father Bill


The Tree Cutters by Cole Henri
You can’t see them and then you can,
like bear cubs in the treetops working for man,
hoisting one another with ropes and pulleys
that seem the clearest possible metaphor
for bright feelings vs. dark feelings,
as I lie in the grass below, hearing the big limbs fall,
like lightning exploding on the lake.
Once, a thick, dirty, bad-smelling sorrow
covered me like old meat: I saw a blood-stained toad,
instead of my white kitten; I saw shadows and misprision*,
instead of my milk and pancakes. “Maybe God has gone away,”
my life moaned, hugging my knees, my teeth, my terrible pride,
though, after a time, like a warm chrysalis, it (the toad?**produced
a tough, lustrous thread the pale yellow of onions.
*means neglect or wrong performance
** my suggestion
Father Bill +