AUGURIES

Arts and Culture

Mar 10

I’m under-occupied when they show up,
Most times—these premonitions of…of what?
Of never getting what I haven’t got?
Of never drinking from the winner’s cup?
Of never being named Best This, Most That?
Of letting down my children, and their mom?
They come with truths, and with half-truths they come,
These auguries; though inarticulate,
They speak in feelings, hot, and cold, and sweaty,
Smothering till I cannot fill a lung,
Till I remembered to let go, and clung
To nothing but the animating beauty.
I saw the terror steadily, and whole:
A sticky, rolling brown-out of the soul.

March 2022

Scott Robinson

Scott has one of those résumés that give HR people a migraine. He grew up amongst the glacial hills and lakes, and long, cold winters of Central New York. He has worked at Renaissance Faires, as, variously, an actor, musician, and a Tarot reader, and at one faire he met his wife, Allison. He taught college music for ten years, then studied to become an Interfaith Minister, in which he concentrated on hospice chaplaincy. He is a professed member of the Third Order of St. Francis, a religious order within the Episcopal Church. He has recently begun the study of Druidry, as part of his quest to "free Christ from his Near Eastern captivity." He has early onset Parkinson's Disease, which is making him less inhibited every day, God help us. He lives in Philadelphia.

AUGURIES

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