Heaney’s Grave

The fog of mid-July proved legacy
throughout Bellaghy, County Londonderry.
A simple wooden cross engraved with gold
still stood in place of a refined headstone.
The grave’s dirt settling in a small mound
revealed how earth’s red tones, exhumed and drowned
in mist, will deepen. Lilies and a card
lay on top, decorated gifts from diehard
disciples still in primary school, students
more capable of praise and sincere reverence
than we were. Pacing in that catholic churchyard,
we felt at odds with the immense stone placards.

I took my chance to see it out of fear
I’d miss it, as I missed the crowds that year
amassed. That trip to someone of my age was
obligation, no real pilgrimage.
We’re wild for this guy’s poems in the states,
I told my friend. I came to satiate
a want I only named after the fact
and left not wanting to leave, but turn back.

As I Walk with You in this Cold Swamp

of a state park,
sun leaflessly haloes
spanish moss in kinks and knots,

and roots like snorkels in the pools
breathe and buttress
bald cypresses in soil.

Today, no wind, no rain.
But secret oil seeps from trees
into the water,

and turns the black
translucent blue, yellow, pink.
A cypress rainbow, you

call it, crouching down
to photograph
the vibrant hike, vibrancy like

we want for ourselves, not purified,
but dense, more forested,
more maritime.

South of Faith

Countless digs and still I get
twenty-three-million-year-old butterflies
in my stomach each time I find fossils.
In the black hills near what we call Faith,
South Dakota, my dog Gypsy and I spotted
three large vertebrae jutting out from a bluff.
Why in finding do I feel found? Why
when I appraise to date the most
complete and best preserved Tyrannosaur
do I find you sumless, unreckonable even
when I count the rings in your thigh like a tree.

I find that starting each day with a body-scan meditation improves my focus, calms my anxiety, and improves my sense of perspective and overall happiness. I look for ways to incorporate contemplation into every day, including imaginative contemplation while reading scripture, and guided meditations from spiritual leaders online. I have been astounded by my practice's effectiveness to create a sense of connection to the earth, and to stop my mind from ruminating on destructive thoughts.

I think of writing as on a continuum with contemplative practice. To write, I must be fully present and attentive to the words: not just their meanings, but the way sounds interact as well. I hope that my poems combine well the contemplation of language and the contemplation of the world as we live in it.

Andrew Miller lives in Virginia Beach, VA, where he teaches secondary school English. He studied Poetry Writing at The University of Virginia and earned an M.A. in the Humanities at the University of Chicago. He has poetry forthcoming in Windows Facing Windows, and a poetry review forthcoming in EcoTheo. He likes to play Dungeons & Dragons, read Batman comics, and identify birds in the park. He lives with his wife, Hales, and their crested gecko, Toast.

More on Andrew Miller’s work can be found on our Links page.