Now and Then

Or the time after the war
my father walked the horse and plow
several miles to the north side of town
and another farm to do a job
for two dollars —

that plow there behind the house,
surrounded by next year’s bluebells,
if you can imagine them —

or him, smiling at his good fortune
and at the vineyard beyond —

less one brother.

Or just the other day,
when I found a butterfly clinging to a leaf,
testing a damaged wing.

And how are you these days?

What joy, what solace, what peace do you bring?

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William Michaelian