Who can know my despair
at the ones who talk too much.
The ones who don’t speak at all.
The ones who qualify and over-qualify.
The ones who can’t say this without first saying that.
Make them like stubble driven by the wind.
Happy is the one who sees rescue
in this wrapped robe of light;
the big sky spread like a tent cloth
of morning-pink-gold embroidery,
the evening plush cushioning
white stars and apricot planets.
Happy is the one who praises
the source of grass for cattle and grain for people.
Happy is the one who walks
beneath the floozy cottonwoods,
under the eagles who nest in them.
Who does not tap oil and gas.
Who leaves the rare earth for the generations.
From where will our help come?
Through the Bighorns runs wasting disease,
Mad cow stalks with folding prions
of Creutzfeldt-Jakob.
Who can know my fury
at Jacob’s tricks and God’s consent.
After the devastations and the theft,
after the deceptions and the heartbreak,
after the last blessing and the scene at the Jabbok,
it was still the beginning of the story
when two wealthy brothers wept
on each other’s shoulders.
What will they do without missiles.
What will they do without starvations.
What will they do without predation.
What will they do without exile. What?
Judith Baumel is professor emerita of English and founding director of the creative writing program at Adelphi University. She has served as a Fulbright Scholar to Italy, president of the Association of Writers & Writing Programs, and director of the Poetry Society of America.
