Picture, Cap and Gown

by Michael Lee Johnson

Cap and gown

history major,

minor in math-

graduation under

the maple tree,

bright red leaves,

but the times don’t show it;

a full face grins.

There’s a shadow

below your nose

above your lips,

it settles into

a gray mixed day.

You stand on farm land

with no plow in hand

or in the distance bare-

no damn cows to be seen

no red barn or damn homestead

just open acres of space-

and downed fences-

and some idle brush

blending with quill feathers

flushed within a background

of branches.

Life is a simple picture.

Life is a simple picture,

repeating with tree shadows

hovering around leaves.

Dirt in the background

dances freely-

it’s here their memories are folded,

into prairie winds.

You are still framed

in solid black and white-

you can’t leave this space on your own,

from now to your own eternity,

to your salvation or your grave.

Your whole life now has spots

and spaces behind it.

Did you grow older and have children?

Did you marry a man of the plow

or that chemist you had the brief

affair with in agricultural school?

Did the graduation certificate

rolled up in your hand

like a squashed turnip,

donut, or dead sea scroll

fade by moisture and sun

or wind up cursed with sand?

I pull down your life

and frame it here

like a stage curtain

handful of future,

present, passed, and pasted

in a space dimension of

3” x 5” tucked beneath

a simple footnote in time.

Michael Lee Johnson is a poet from Itasca, Illinois who lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is published in 25 countries. He runs five poetry sites. Published works are available at http://poetryman.mysite.com, http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/promomanusa, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, and iUniverse.