Tag Archives: hope

119. Weeks in One Room

 

he died loose in town

short of air, a son and humility,

black hair sprayed on pavement.

 

metal aids gave back his breath

but took half his stomach in trade,

some old fungus, separate

leaves on the branch

off the trunk of his only body.

a worthwhile trade.

 

does he refigure birth

on this late cusp of rebirth

counting the son in a past life?

did he speak to angels?

he says no.  he heard

every word in spanish

the nurses, tv

but they weren’t speaking it.

he doesn’t either.

colors were dense,

saturated with fever, drugs

or else something, and

 every dark hispanic woman

was achingly beautiful.

because he said 

mexico

as a short cut to 

santa fe, 

they thought his head damaged.

they held him, held to him

the head of his own in some shock

for an extra week.

 

he thought he had it straight.

he is surprised to realize

he could have been so confused

in such a small space, one room.

but he notes all the space

held in time.

109. Fieldwork

 

Walking across Wyoming

I fell for you, your curls

sweat plastered, your eyes

changing blue to green, your

flirting with waitresses while

I watched laughing for your shy

young hands hiding. I fell

longing for the touch 

of your brown hand brushing

my brown hand, my bleached

hair tangled in your mistaken 

fingers, exchanging Farka Toure

for Fugazi, breaking

my eardrums, my patience,

my grown wild heart.

 

Days are shrinking now, hit hard

by winds that parch, skinning

sun raw by desert sand

carried. At night I hear radio 

voices clattering between our tents,

restless and urgent. Walking, I see 

fire-cracked rock buried 

beneath sand, the way

our eyes plant explosives through

the unnamed senses. At night

you visit philosophy, torturing

breakfast and still …

 

Spain is one half-assed plan 

to work through winter, one

idea cooked up on a stormy day

of crackling lightning and a missed

tornado. Next, Cuba, but no one liked 

that, not even you knowing

about the whores and cuba libres

and hot sun, hot salt on skin.

Or Argentina has friends waiting,

long digs and pampas like home,

all in Spanish. If we both

rode an airplane to Patagonia

would you even hold my hand

shoo the Latinos from their lust?

Or would you indulge your own for me,

turned south and wild with hunger?

I fell for you like that hail

fell hard to earth last week.

Hug me, miss me.

108. Night Owl

 

One owl’s soft hoot eases out from the wood, and

leaves pause their evening flutter.

the last finch tucks down against a branch.

the only thing moving is that moon, slowly

slowly rising through velvety dusk.

Now we are all suspended together 

just above the ground of a world’s constant motion,

we are all suspended together in a holy 

state of waiting, 

waiting together, breath

shallow and slowed for absolute silence, 

absolute hope …

 

The faintest reply drifts in over treetops.

silver light smooth as stone and

no more than the smallest rustle

passed in dying undergrowth.

 

In one answering owl’s soft voice, 

night is released from its patient

pause, from such

absolute stillness, 

such hope.

101. in my dreams

.

last night i picked up

the phone but you were still dead.

you keep calling me

.

though it’s hard to hear

your words this way, hard to trade

old photos of our

.

heroes, your new collage,

my aimlessly wandering  

with found objects and

.

tribal members. your

brother is angry and P 

is angry with me

.

which is easier. 

i’m fine. i’ve seen your face on

strangers in philly

.

and once in DC … you

winked at me, no less – nice touch

and every time

.

i inscribe three dots

on the bottom of a clay 

pot i smile for you 

.

now untouchable.

it’s always nice to hear from 

you. it’s just hard to

.

understand over this phone.

i’ve reserved a place for you 

in my dreams tonight.