Tag Archives: Hail Mary

jim spurr | the advice of mrs. tubbs

There is a simple and safe way to shed a sweater. First you free the arms. Then take both hands and pull it over the head. Always get the arms free first. That is the most important part.
He crashed through the rear screen door with his arms and head locked up in a pullover and he fell into a bed of freshly watered day lilies. And she had gone across the alley to visit. He couldn't get up on account of the mud. He suffocated face down with his feet in the impatiens. She mourned a respectful length of time then married a skinny fellow and they had two children by 1940. He died soon after in the war on a Pacific island. Whose name I forgot. Unlike the first husband his death had been heroic and predictable. She never married again. In honor of her second husband she dedicated the remainder of her life to working for world peace. But, as lacking in glory as her first husband's death was, awkward man, she maintained, in his memory, all her life, a small backyard garden. Consisting mainly of lightly watered impatiens and day lilies.
from Hail Mary, On Two. Village Books Press, Cheyenne, Oklahoma, 2011.
Jim Spurr is an Oklahoma poet. "In the mid fifties I was 18 and a paratrooper getting ready to make my first jump and I thought, 'someday I gotta write about this.' Every poem I have ever written ever since has been a failed effort to capture that brief but glorious instant."