Stumping the Rainmaker

you told me how
the Yukon stumped a rainmaker
blending myth and recollection
your story rhythmic
like the drumdance outside
helping us through
that long, dark winter

It reminded me of the time
I struggled into Hope
in the twilight of the Rocky Mountains
during the final days
of my long adolescence

Driving my fathers truck
an awkward, dying gift
to his only son
taking me there, and back
from the temple to the pass

that was then
angry and youthful
arguing with the voices in my head
charting the futile course
back to the Landing.

To Barbara, On My Birthday

this was the first
without you

but I caught images of the grist mill
moonlighting in facade
desperate days of rancour
culled from youth to insignificance

there are some things
I wish had been said:
thank you; sorry; stop;

if I was your mistake
I commend you on your blunders

it seems that secrets are buried
and your lineage betrayed
by brothers and misgivings

there are strangers in your house, squatters
stealing our identities
and pretending to live our lives
second and third generations
acting out my script

I’ll put you in the corner of the temple
holding Asia
and reading your journals
looking for clues.

Email: John Bernard Bourne

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