Where the Willow Won't Weep

There Is a place
I think
my mother once told
me of yellow-green pastures
past where crackled roads rolled
two turns past the playground
and its stinging jokes
and three more past the old pond
and its frog's throaty croaks
Past the thin waitresses huddled
taking smoke breaks in the cold
past the tunnel under the freeway
where most business goes untold
past the butchers on the corner
dark sweat on white shirts
past the corners of the city
where the broken ones lurk
past Mr. Johnson's farm
and his sweat-trickled brow
past the fence in his yard
holding brown-spotted cows
walk till steel and cement melt to clovers and sky
With a keen eye, she said, It cannot pass you by
You'll find sun-drenched azaleas
and birds singing songs
under tangerine sunsets
and blueberry dawns
where the clouds serve as pillows
egg white on sea blue
and I'll lay 'neath the willow
just dreaming of you
where worry floats off
like a Dandelion spore
and we sit with each other
desiring no more
Where we smile with our eyes and we dance with our feet
and our laugh's so contagious
that the willow won't weep
I can't wait to arrive
and stain grass on my palms
and then look up to see you
'cause I know you're there, Mom.
And When I hug you this time
I will know you're to keep
'cause there's no thing like pain
where the willow won't weep