Beth Houston

Jacob’s Ladder

Old tree pruned back to ladder, rung by rung
To branches thick enough to hold the heave	
And hoist me up through leaves, where bees once stung
Me heel to head, yet spunk refused to leave
My tree house hideout, took their drone as sign
Of tough survival . . . Now wedged plank wood floor
Supports some forty years of rot. At nine
Escape’s perch held, immense, no insects bore
My name carved white in limbs, scarred-over now,
Mere echo like the voice of God, the lack
Of view, like nothing happened here. It’s how
This priest evolved: The wild child tamed crawls back
As top of food chain rich exec to munch
Stale bread and gulp filched souring wine for lunch.

Beth Houston has taught writing at ten universities and colleges in California and Florida. She has published a couple hundred poems in dozens of literary journals. She edits the Extreme formal poetry anthologies. www.bethhouston.com  /  www.rhizomepress.com