BIG DIPPER

When I ask him over he's just up for the week
And he's busy with friends in from California.
Days I see him on the tractor by the river.
Nights he cooks and they chant Hindu together.
Aster in the field are purple lamps that go out
One at a time as the machine passes over them.

Later he drops in to let her know they're gone
And he's free to come. We watch him cross the road
Between the houses with maples and grass.
Sun that slants in at an angle has more red
And less warmth in it. By the time he gets to the door
We're there to let him in and we shake.

He likes the New York white and I explain the growth
Improves over the years with new money and promotion.
Years ago as a school teacher he can't afford it
And now he drinks a little but he's unsure of his tastes.
With Rhone red over the fresh baked bread and pesto soup
His glass doesn't move and he has high cholesterol.

Our swallows are gone and we see bluebirds in the garden
For a few days passing through. I find them in the book.
We clear the table for fruit and push our chairs back.
A celebrity through his nature photography he defines beauty
To us as a culturally induced biochemical state of awareness.
One of his shots blows up to cover a building on Times Square.

As a boy he starts off at the library with Steichen's Family.
He grows up with Diane Arbus herself the central character
Among the wierd faces that reflect her sense of alienation.
Later he does a video and eats apple pie with Eliot Porter.
He finds Schlindler still indulges in special effects
And sees better any day at the art cinema in Georgetown.

His people land in New Orleans and come upriver a good way.
They set up a trading post by an army fort on the frontier.
During the war boys from all over train there
Before going overseas to fight. His Mom has eight sisters
And they all marry soldiers they meet at the USO.
The only Jewish kid in town they strip him and shellac him.

He cares for a daughter in Washington. She suffers
Cerebral palsy and is quadriplegic from a car crash.
The coma lasts for months. We remember a sweet sixteen party
In colored tents with stripes. She's deaf and signs.
Visitors come from all over some in jalopies from Arkansas.
It's midsummer and the field is green and still wet.

The room is lit with candles that line the mantle
In little cups in storm glass at the deep windows
And in tall candlesticks on the table between us as we talk.
Last summer he puts a ramp over the steps and brings her
In a van along with a couple of health care attendants.
He may take her to Berkeley and sell the place he has here.

He has a romantic interest in a lady with silver hair
Who makes contact prints from leaves and organic materials.
She's out of the picture now. Today he hikes to a high ledge
With a large format camera and an athletic girl
From the art crowd who doesn't wear makeup or a bra.
He watches for the impression of her nipples on the fabric.

He completes an assignment at the agricultural station
Where they create in one season 3,000 new varieties of apple
With the latest genetic techniques. It may make a book.
When it's over he asks for a flashlight and I walk out with him.
He says he's taking his life six months at a time.
The dots are bright and I see a familiar pattern.

10/7/94 Jay