by Jim Curtis

Created on: August 30, 2009

Ol' Adam's Gum

He was old,

not as old as the big oak

under whose branches

we sat to get out of the noonday heat,

but he was older than anyone else I knew.

Like the tree's limbs his hands

were all knots and lumps,

like the tree he was hard and lined and bent,

like the tree he had always been there,

and I knew in my boy's heart,

like the tree he always would be.

In his hand he held a pile of things.

His face was all lit up with smiles,

his gray eyes flamed with secrets

he would soon reveal to me.

"Know what these are, boy?" he asked,

knowing I did not.

"This is future bread your Gran will make

some cold and blustery winter morn."

He was looking at the small pile he held.

He turned to me, "This here stuff is wheat,"

and he let it pour from hand to callused hand.

I was not impressed.

I had expected more,

seeing how he smirked.

No way those dusty seed like things

could ever make my Gramma's bread.

He smiled an even broader smile.

I could count the teeth he had.

"That's not the best part 'bout this stuff," he said

in the voice he used to whisper secrets,

"that's what I want to show you."

With that he ground his hands together.

I've seen those hands do powerful things,

God's hands were just like them, I knew,

but this time I truly was amazed

at seeing what he did.

He held one hand above the other

and let the grain fall through.

He blew,

and out from that falling

things flew.

In his bottom hand

a small pile rose.

"That there that blew

they call the chaff.

It's 'bout as worthless

as anything can get.

This here's the wheat,"

he said as he picked up

a small, brown grain.

I knew it would make my Gramma's bread.

"But there's more," he said,

and put a pinch inside his cheek.

"Here, take the rest and chew."

Since then lightning's hit the oak and killed it.

My Grampa had a stroke and died,

but every harvest season since that day

I take a handful of the grain

and grind it in my hands

and blow.

I put a pinch of what is left into my mouth

and chew and chew and chew

on that sweet stuff

my Grampa called,

"Ol' Adam's gum."

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