Amos J. Hunt

Amos J. Hunt is a full-time tutor and the founding editor of Grub Street Grackle. His writing has appeared in The Shandean, Moreana, Quatrain Fish, and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine. He lives with his family in Irving, TX.

A Speech in Gratitude for the Ways of God

Amos J. Hunt

Issue 58, Autumn 2019

“Every little nit is a gift,” I said,

lying, though in the mystery of God,

I knew it must be true. It must be true,

for–look here, even if it weren’t so,

either there is no God to do the giving,

in which case every single creature living

must be a god unto itself, and I

would thus be left to take responsibility

for nits and other things I blame Him for;

or He sent them to punish me–and sure,

a punishment sounds bad, but then again,

it’s meant to leave me better off; so, then,

a gift indeed. But I did not believe,

for all I thought I’d reasoned out his love.

My aching back, stooped as it had to be

to root through each child’s hair, my drooping eye,

weary from late night laundry, my raw scalp

took no comfort from such theodical help.

Yet, comforted I am, now that it’s done,

not by any wise words, but by a ton

of steaming, greasy nachos and a beer,

which marvelously saturate my care.

Who really knows why anything is planned.

Thank God I do not need to understand.

Pantoum of the Fig Tree

Amos J. Hunt

Issue 57, Summer 2019

As squirrels and jays and other filching rogues

get to the figs before they’re even ripe,

I rob myself of peace. God only knows

how little needs my soul these restless nights.

Get to the figs before they’re even ripe.

Either you reap them now or lose them all.

How little needs my soul these restless nights.

How vexed the light of day, how rote and small.

Either you reap them now or lose them all.

Tomorrow is a chewed-up stump of fruit.

How vexed the light of day, how rote and small.

By night I sing the sight of something new.

Tomorrow is a chewed-up stump of fruit.

From nowhere scores of ants will swarm its neck.

By night I sing the sight of something new,

nor mind if in the morning I’m a wreck.