Chorus (3 page)

A cross
to bare.
A bridge
to cross.

I am not
broken
. Just tired.

Damaged
slightly.

Nothing good lasts forever.

And
sometimes
nothing bad does either.

Th
is is my stop. Can we land now

Bus driv
e
r?

That
old
bridge
exists in the reflection

Of the new
. Simply beautiful. I need

To sleep somewhere like that.

I need to wake up in the care of the sun.

I need to feel safe with my eyes closed.

I need to land. Like an alley cat.

I paid my fare a million times.

I am not a secret!!

I am screaming

Inside
this shell.

Time
can't find me here. No more

Watches. Everybody watches.

Watch me get off.

Watch me get off.

Watch me land.

I got wings

This bus got
wings
.

Just put this baby
in drive
.

And let's fly

Let's exist together

For the very first

time.

who told you

you

could

expose

your

wings

black girl

don't you know there is no room to evolve here

no room to resolve fears

dissolve tears

back into the earth from
wh
ich
y
ou came

your name(?)

lucy(,)

loosely

considered
hominoid

human

beautiful

woman

marvel at your buttocks

and legs

slim waist

and breasts

yet make child suckling illegal in public

we need no remembrance

of what we taught you to forget

of heru and

auset

jesus and

mary

forbid to teach the babies

that the
messiah
had a messiah

and her name was

Mama

Despite your small victories

you were built for digestion.

There is a fire in your chest

that will burn you in the right

direction: follow it.

Blind yourself

with anything.

It is the only way

to walk properly;

sightless stumbling over

cobblestones, molars

under your feet.

Tonight, you are

the offering.

Every step taken

is a minor rapture

for
your tongue,

your nose, ears,

and hands
heightened

by the surrendering

of your pupils. Walk

your heels skinless,

until your blisters

are just pads

of pulp. And then, when you collapse,

sprawled out like a starfish, you will love

with your whole body.

You will bleed the earth

a sky.

no one tells you

if anyone does you do not listen anyway

if you do still you do not understand

no one tells you how to be free

there is fire in your neck

ocean in your ear

there is always your
fear

the words you can
not
even

no one is here

when the world
open
s upside

down you reach toward dawn

your weight on the earth changes

some of us plant deeper

others ache to fly

Hot wind spra
y
s sand in
our eyes
, and I know you're still angry with me.

To the west, Eden's trees sway and the
cool water
washes sinner skin clean.

Don't worry love, you'll be free of me soon.

Babies' blood upon my chin, sweet as pomegranate syrup. Oh, how many fetters

wrought in love and unmade by lust, were soggy-skinned and tender.

Fear not my love, you'll be
clean
thi
s
afternoon.

How you loved to weave
the bonds
and strap them to my belly. Now

the heat of your anger scorches the plain, lamenting both hunger

and its satiation. Don't worry love, you'll be
free
of me
s
oon.

When our sons have a taste for their young,
you
'll remember me.

Attributing a lineage
of
sin to
your
sister, though I only meant to

bring you unburdened to your
fate
. Oh my dear one, remember this tune.

Eve waits in the shadow of a fig tree,
the
virgin daughter.

Her juices will still feel unclean on your fingers,

Tasting not quite right. You're
impossible
to please, just like your Father.

Dearly beloved, this demon's
love
for you
was true
;

Here you
stand
at Earth's gate, I've carried you through!

Lust and fire defeated, rem
and
me to the dunes;

For all that I bore you, I'll be free of you soon.

It is fine to mourn the dead

--- but this is not that poem.

This for those we haven't lost.

This for those

who couch
surf
until

waves
of hospitality cease
cresting
.

Then, they crash

on floors before

they find another place,

paddle over and pray

the
tide rises high

enough to hang 10

or h
o
we
ver
many days they can.

This is for those

wh
ose disorganiz
at
ion

was amusing and endearing

until it cost them college,

those for whom

“damn homie

in h
i
gh
s
chool you was the man homie

the fuck happened to you?”

was
written
.

This is for those

who
o
nly call once

e
ver
5-
7
months and

have the same conversation

each
time
,

like pop song
s

— the chords might change

but the progression's the same.

It starts with

a warm greeting

and details suggesting

progress paid a visit

before the c
over

of enthusiasm fades,

revealing

the only real change:

their location.

Sad nostalgia
infects

their voice, reminding

o
f e
ver
y errand and chore

and other reason to

get off the phone

right
now
.

This is for those

people, we all know

those people.

They were our best friends

growing up, the ones we looked up to.

Now we c
an
har
d
ly find

the energy for half a smile

whenever they cross our paths.

This
i
s for those

because after so many

unsuccessful efforts,

offering help feels

like attempting to push

the boulder of Sisyphus,

it seems absurd to even try.

All that remains is hope

and hope can elect a president

but it can't save a person's life

so we write and read

poems like
these,

like
lighthouses
and maybe

those people will find their way

back to shore.

This is for those we haven't lost

because there is a fate worse than death

and it's living to hear eulogies

for the person you could have been

There was no way

to say goodbye

that last day I tried.

There was thank you.

There was I love you.

There was a hand to hold

and your eyes

and the great shifting
paintings

of your windows.

The ocean and the sky

and you, so tired,

everything deserting you.

Years unwinding to this;

From far away, I call,

trying to keep your voice in my ears.

Your warrior girl has pushed

your bed to the window.

Your head rests with the rising

of the sun and of the moon.

How many hearts broke

themselves, trying to hold

and keep, before she

who could stop a coal truck

with her will? She makes you soup.

The waves break
over
her.

I knew, this morning,

before it came.

You had gone under,

deep beneath morphine

and out with the
tide
.

I am here, helplessly alive

trying to find you.

You, the long, brown, gypsy boy,

trailing your ragged beauty.

You, the man,

wild-eyed and righteous,

throwing your shoes at the murderer

behind the pen. You, your shirt

splotched with my tears. You

laughing at my absurdity.

Your shout of “What are you, drunk?”

You the maker of hangover

eggs, the eyes that shared the joke,

fellow chaser of storms.

the one who loved my swagger

and knew everything behind it.

The huge
moving sea

is
between us
.

I no longer can hold

your
disappearing
hand.

Your body is as earth

and stones and all

there is to offer

cannot bring one more day

of your sweet, sleepy smile.

I cry out from the sinew,

out from the agonized clutch

of my chest. My
flesh

has never seemed so undeserved.

This grief is a
hurricane

that passes and passes.

The eye. The storm. The eye.

I remember you,

that last afternoon

in your high, white flat.

You were unafraid. The sky

was already taking
possession
.

I remember you

in that seaside room

where the windows held no shore,

only the
vast horizon
.

Trace the red cord

from tread to source

to find threads

of a
crushed
case,

the screeching white

rib of animal

framework splintered

through a pelt still

fresh with fleas

fragments of ivory

archways snapped

tangled in viscera

of violets bruised

rouge and mangled

tubes
pulsate
spurts

in the midmorning

rays till the last drops

sheen in every crevice

of the road we glance

away
to
avoid

the scene

a deflated carcass

disappearing

on
the
horizon.

1

Broken

Pieces of
bone

Skulls

And feet

Eye
s and teeth

Mixed with shattered concrete

All
th
is rubbl
e

Cousins

Bricks

Steel beams

Sister

Glass, mother

Tears,
blood

Brother

Babies

Buried under all that
unyielding

Unforgiving rubble

When the dump trucks

Come to scoop up

Toes and clothes

Papers and arms

Who will take the time

To
peel

Flesh
off
the

Cracked wood boards

Separate
what was once
alive

From the plastic

But sometimes in the

Rubble there is life

2

From

Under the concrete

A rescue dog hears a heartbeat

Life

Barks to alert

D
o
g and resc
u
e
r
s

Find

Warm-blooded
person

Heart still beating

Pumping blood

So subtle

Buried in all that rubble

Yet this dog

Hears

There are no

Buried
secrets

They

Know compassion

As they tread carefully

Walk
o
ver and through

Mo
u
ntains of

B
r
oken

Unstable

Rubble

To find
life

3

8 days

Under
rubble

Entombed

Only able to roll

A few inches

Wiggle
your toes

Only able to pray

Psalms blocks out the panic thoughts

And claustrophobia

As earth shattering

Aftershocks

Threaten, threaten

To rain death on
you

But the rumbles
are
the

Machines

Chomping through

Concrete

Wires

Broken glass

They find you

Under 10 stories of concrete

You were at work when