Jubilate Agno

There are
days when I can’t even plant
a Rose

of Sharon
in the right place, too close, too

much space, what-
ever and every day the same pages
to face, writing  

not writing, and none
of it as real
as the feel of twenty-weight  

bond, which is itself
less real  

than the tree they took
it from
or the leaves that stick to the eaves  

every fall
every goddam time  

we stumble into winter, or the way
my mother-
in-law bends to pick up her own  

paper, her
newspaper, and loses her balance
for the umpteenth  

time and floats
down to bang her head on the doorknob  

or (who can tell) the stainless-steel
rail beneath]
the turquoise foliage  

in the rain-stained
wallpaper pattern in the evergreen East wing  

hall at Camilla
Hill where the assorted
artificial hips  

and knees and the goddam paper leaves
on the goddam
paper trees are almost as real  

as the lilac-scented
air we struggle to breathe  

James Lineberger

If you've any comments on this poem, James Lineberger would be pleased to hear from you.