Bio: Paula Hayes is a poet who lives in Memphis, Tennessee, the same place where rock and roll was birthed and where the ghost of Elvis still hangs around Beale Street. She finds the presence of such a rich musical history in the town she lives in to be right on track with transforming one as a poet into a bard.
As I Start to Consider June More (Than I Used to
It is 5 am
I am startled awake
by the sounds
of a spring thunderstorm
I decide to take out
old vinyls
Johnny Cash
I let Jackson spin itself
As I think to myself--
How hard would it have been
to love
an outlaw
a man
like Johnny Cash?
Did June ever feel
the trembling
drops of rain
lace the downy
brown hairs
on her loving arms
she held out
so long
like a crucifix
or feel the rain
caress
against her
country girl skin
in her calico
homemade dresses
with daisies
and lavender
tucked
behind?
If Sunday mornings
came down hard
as the cold sunlight
slid in through
bedroom windows
rays caught
between sheer
curtains
how much harder
did the whiskey
taste
the night before
on the lips of
the man
she worshipped
the man
who was her own god?
Who did June
listen
to when
she walked
the floor
wondering
if he had
a cheating heart
while he
was living
on the road
and, well, did he?
Did she ever
allow her
soul
to break
to go out
walking
after
midnight
humming
the blues to
an old
Patsy Cline?
She stood
by her man
loved him like
the rock of ages
June taught Johnny
all about Jesus
and what the
love of a good woman
felt like
and how to
eat chicken
on Sunday evenings
and say grace
break the manna
read the word
Johnny's psalms
as his gravel
road
voice
weeps more gravel
and weeps more stones
tells us to hurt
more (and more)
and to feel all
our sins
deep down into the toes
pinched by our dusty boots
until our own
hands are pierced
and bleeding
that we are
the cross
we carry
we are our own criminals
we are our own outlaws
it is an outlaw gospel
Jonny wants us to believe in
where the sinners are masochists
and love is the antidote
that somehow love
is the answer
for what we
cannot save in
ourselves
alone
yet
we still hurt
his tempo
is starting
to slow over time
or maybe I am
starting to slow
for some
reason
this morning
it is not Jonny's voice
I want to hear
I want to
hear the sound of
June's hymns
of unflinching
saintly devotion
a pilgrimage
of womanly desire
for her man
as her voice
becomes
softer to me
now
as I consider
her
a little
more than
i used to
Fevers of the Mind 