There’s an old farmer’s tale
called “The Cheatgrass and the Scythe,”
where gratitude is given
to pendulum hands.
All afternoon the farmer scythes
green crooked wands till they slump upon death.
Acre after acre scything becomes methodical.
Then again, so does grieving.
Consider the farmer’s heart palsied by grief,
the color of misery radiates from his cheeks
and his eyes, which go the way of the oak,
where they found his beloved hung
with a garden hose. Each dawn he mumbles
the old farmer’s tale, while his heart must carve
through each of its agonies
over and over, until it feels.
Robert Karaszi worked as a lyricist/songwriter for an independent record label in the 1990’s, where he also freelanced as a writer for upcoming artists. His poetry has appeared in Hawaii Pacific Review, Conclave: A Journal of Character, Grey Sparrow Journal, and elsewhere. In 2013 he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Currently he resides in New Jersey.