for my grandmother, Miriam Lindsey Levering (1913-1991)
Blue light a nimbus from the TV, she’s listening
to the darkness delivering news of the world
to her antennae high in the Blue Ridge.
The autumn harvest pouring in, fruit and children
in wooden crates on every floor, she’s plotting peace,
the ballgame on low, applescent at the tip of her knife.
Blue light a nimbus from the TV, in the Carolina piedmont
and across the sea, walls and wars of indecency
collide with the mind of this Quaker orchardist and master
strategist dissecting arguments while peeling fruit
and pulling from the pockets of her fraying apron
a scorecard for another world: blue light a nimbus from the TV,
ballgame on low, fresh applescent at the tip of her knife.
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