"Psalm 1": A poem

A meager attempt at conversing with the Psalms.

Hello to recent subscribers! A handful of y’all have joined recently, and I wanted to welcome you and express my gratitude for sharing your attention with me. For those of you just joining us, a little housekeeping is in order. My life has been a bit, um, well… in the words of Mad Men protagonist Don Draper, a lot has happened. In June, my wife, Lindsey, and I said yes to an utterly unlooked-for foster placement of two siblings—a 6-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl. We went from a household of five to a household of seven with less than 24 hours’ notice. My writing has been sparser than usual since then. (If you want to catch up on our foster care adventures, start here.) My posts since June have originated on Substack. I do have a website that I still consider home base, even though it is mostly dormant for now.

Okay. Now, for the poetry.

I don’t often share my own poetry in this here space. It happens every now and then, yes, but I’m not writing as much poetry as I used to and I try to share the work of actual poets that feed my soul. But I riffed on an idea partially inspired by our recent trip to the mountains, largely inspired by Psalm 1, and liked how it turned out. (I also borrowed the conceit from the “winter” version of the same Psalm. Maybe I’m lazy. Or maybe I’ll do a version for every season?) I gave printed copies of it as a party favor at the joint 40th birthday party that Lindsey I threw last weekend. Yes, we are now 40. Yes, we’re only two days apart in age. It’s awesome and we’re looking forward to this new decade.

All that to say: I humbly share the poem here. I strive to be a respectful little hobbit, and giving gifts at my birthday is a significant marker of a true hobbit ethos. Happy birthday to me: here is a gift for you. Feel free to read the real Psalm 1 beforehand (or afterward) to get the most out of the experience.

Thanks for reading.

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Psalm 1

but in autumn.
The narrow-leaf cottonwoods
by the river
yield golden fruit
in the prosperity
of this season.
What withers
will grow again.
The American dipper 
delights in the law
of the Lord,
submerging himself
day and night.
The Lord knows
the current
of the righteous,
and the low flows
make room for
the runoff of spring.