A poem by Spafford based on a real life experience of plums and gods one morning in Leeds on an early spring day.
lyrics
As if they were waiting for a world to begin. As if they were waiting for a world to begin and had gathered for the view, plum position, here on our lawn.
Gods, she had said. There are gods in the Mirabelle tree.
It was early, I was wrestling on a sock. But the way she said it, more breath than voice, made me join her there at the bedroom curtain.
Kids, I thought, sitting in the branches, thumbing their phones. But we both knew. Instead of some other Monday’s finches flicking, they had settled here; a stillness, a grace of them.
Small, I said. A bit small for gods.
The binocs, she said. Though I’d already grabbed our battered copy of The God Spotter’s Guide.
Hathor, Lady of the Sycamore, was swinging her legs. Then Dog-headed Penghou, his arm around a dryad. And Tapio, tiara’d with a fresh Finnish fir branch.
And Nang Tani and Jinmenju. A gallery of sprites and faes from The Arboreal. And there at the top, like the Christmas fairy, Baltic Lauma. I could have sworn she waved.
Who could imagine a humble plum supporting such godhood? And yet we had expected it, were prepared.
Where else would they gather for this convention, and when, if not Now, as the earth tilts like an upturned table, and the silvery ones from undiscovered stars prepare to descend?
credits
from Hope of a Tree,
released March 1, 2023
Words. Peter Spafford. Music: Richard Ormrod. Production: Richard Ormrod.
Welcome in Schwa: Peter Spafford writes poetry and plays the piano; Richard Ormrod plays other instruments and arranges tunes. More recently, Jacqui Wicks sings and plays the ukulele.
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