Scripture: Meadowlark by José Angel Araguz

 

 

Like the meadowlark,
who builds on land,
gathers dead grasses
for walls, then learns

how to land at a distance,
and walk through burrs and high grass
home (a place
impossible to find),

the day my father died
keeps becoming part
of everything around it.
Named bird of the fields,

not because it’s seen there,
but because there (sun-chested,
as if proud; speckled,
as if coming into shape

or dissolving) it disappears,
I have only seen it once,
and then only knew I saw it
afterwards; older,

and with the words
laid plainly on the page,
I thought of what I closely followed,
what had left me at its door.