A PAIR OF SHOES

Afternoons collect memory
Like wind chimes collecting sound
Or at least making sound
From the huffs of an old nature
Running again into the sweaty air of summer.

It is this time when the gray stone of this place
Turns nearly white, transcending the weight
Of history that makes the walls too dense
To receive any incoming cell phone calls,
Even through the rectangular windows;
Frames like Gilbert Stuart's repeated portrait
Of George Washington, and others.

I am not properly dressed for portraiture.
I wear nothing on my feet as a matter of fact,
Allowing them some separation
From a pair of black leather shoes
Still like two forgotten monuments,
Polished from many hands
Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing,
Until the blackness is as ghostly
As the transience of the evening light.


Joshua Osgood Lehman

duhliterate--a short note about lehman and his work:

he is a former student of mine, and has taught me much. a recent graduate of westpoint he will soon travel to iraq and 'pay' for his free education. God and fate will have him from there. he is a warrior poet--the only one i know. homer would be proud. he truly stands on the shoulders of giants.