Tag Archives: Berryville

Listening to Prince Outside Berryville, Virginia and the Last Poem I’ll Ever Write About Godzilla

Photograph by Jose Padua
Driving this winding
country road I
half expect
that when I get past
the next curve
in the woods and
enter a clearing
I’ll see Godzilla,
towering over the horizon,
his eyes blazing,
flames shooting out
from between his jagged-tooth jaws
as he destroys
a pretty red barn
and a quaint little farmhouse
with one grand sweep
of his massive tail,
but instead I just turn
the volume up
on the car stereo
because a Prince song
has started playing
and the world is spinning
beautifully once again.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua

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Every Man for Himself

Photograph by Jose Padua
The brother nods back silently to me
as he places my jar of honey with ginger
in a paper bag at the monastery store
in Berryville. Why would such a man
ever want to speak to me, also a man,
but of such noisy, grunting spirituality,
would any one in his right mind
ever call it spirituality? Not me.
Meditation for me can be a single
key struck on a piano in a darkened
hallway, but just as often is a scream
toward the menacing, expanding drift
of the bending trees above me. It’s
the screaming they call the distance
for those too remote to see me. It’s the
case for being we’ve each selected,
his in silence and mine in cacophony.
It’s the way my lack of mastery of
everything in my head dissolves itself
into a thousand beautiful fragments of grace.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua