The Things I Want are Simple Things
As in the sound of rain returning.
As in humming-
birds, their soft bird songs as they
lodge a nest
between redwoods. As in nursery
rhymes &
a child's wide eyes. As in prayers
to no god
in particular, slow & heartfelt, like
the Oh lord
preceding cum. As in cornfields &
a horde of mice.
I do not want a life more remarkable
than it is drab.
If ever in doubt, give me blue, give
me the recklessness
of water spilled on a tile. How it is
present &
at once gone. As in a feet slipping.
As in the slipping,
the noun in motion, the body lifted,
then slammed.
As in the 60s & the first moon man.
As in newsfeeds
scrubbed clean of blood. As in each
school kid
returning, not their school bags nor
their shoes,
not the sorry, sorry, sorry. As in a
body before
the tumor. As in the tumor, benign,
melting
back into the breasts tender soil. As in
my father
without his rage. As in a childhood,
soft & bloodless,
all my dead friends dug fresh from
their tombs.
What if I'm fate's holy doe— made both
for pasture
as well as for meat. What if all I ask
for is to be
the hand around the tool, the one in control,
loosening,
loosening, asking the animal to flee into
where my blade cannot.
Duplex for my Father
My heart is fragile like the skin of a pear.
A room on fire, every doorframe leaking ash.
Like a god, he made the door leak its own ash.
My father phones to ask when will you be back?
When will you be back, he phones but never asks.
I carry his love like a scar beneath my neck.
A scar, beneath my neck, how is that his love?
Once I thought Asclepius was the god of health.
Then he built a heart & a god was made.
Breathe, Doc says, what you have is angina.
When I phone my father, I don’t mention I have angina.
Even in my body, the wreckage begins in the chest.
