Things Are Not So Bad
Things are not so bad.
I stumbled and fell over
A witch's pot of moon-orange apricots
In our orchard of disarray yesterday,
But my leg did not break
Or even turn black.
It looks nostalgically skinned
As if I can later pick at the cracking
Scabs of childhood.
Morris died at 93
Of complications from his broken leg.
I had just told the tree-
The grandfather tree
Who seeded the ranging seedlings-
That his fruit was still the best,
But I believe that he tripped me anyway
In spite and admonition,
With an old man's humor.
It was a subtle way
To say
"Don't mock me.
You and I are not so old.
Your leg is not broken
Nor are my branches.
Things are not so bad."
July 4, 1978
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