over
He didnât seem dangerous
Just mean
I picked my mother up from behind
Sort of like a heavy sack of flour
Or birdseed or even gravel for the pond
And carried her out
Then when I sat her down we were back in the kitchen again
I took her to a vehicle
I want to say a âcarâ but it wasnât a car
No no donât answer until midnight I wonât be ready until then
And I drove away
It was as curvy as all get-outâa dirt road that was
Actually a lovely brown
But when we stopped we were back
In the kitchen
My sister was looking
And I was trying to say something
Which came out all crazy
So this 2 is not a poem
Because if it were a poem
I would put my head in your lap
And cry and cry
But since it is not a poem it must be
A painting Still Life with Crying Girl
And what we would see is a bowl of half-eaten raspberries
Mint leaves drenched in the sugary liquid
And a little fly
Poised in the corner
At midnight attracted by the fly
The common vampire bat
On the light of a moonbeam
Will come to hold my head
ROBERT CHAMPION
(Who Died at the Hands of His Bandmates)
The ever restless ocean
Beating against sea
And sky
Grinds, no gently rubs,
The bones of Robert Champion
Into the salt
Of his ancestors
Driven into the blue
Through Middle Passage
We know the torture
Of slavery
And apartheid
We know the terror
Of Jim Crow
Who would imagine The Band
Would kill
Are we having too many
Black men trying to sing
A praise song
Too many Black men trying
To show a better self
So many Black men
That we can spare them
I donât think so
There can be no excuse
For this murder
There can be no I didnât
Realize he was dying
How could you not know
When you act like nazis
Jesus is crucified
How could you not understand
This child should have lived
How could Black men do this
to each other?
ALLOWABLES
I killed a spider
Not a murderous brown recluse
Nor even a black widow
And if the truth were told this
Was only a small
Sort of papery spider
Who should have run
When I picked up the book
But she didnât
And she scared me
And I smashed her
I donât think
Iâm allowed
To kill something
Because I am
Frightened
FLYING IN KIGALI
Or
War Is Never Right
For some reason
Or perhaps
None
The dew was just lifting
Which is not unreasonable
But something for no reason
Made me walk
In my house slippers
To the little dogwood tree
Recently planted
By the shed
As I watered the tree
And, frankly, took joy
In the grass coming up
Where I had tried
For several years to no avail
To grow this little spot of green
I spotted a furry thing
Without thinking
I turned the hose on it
Assuming it was a mushroom
Or some of the mold
That occasionally forms
On top of the mulch
I know there could not
Have been a scream because
Screams arenât possible
For little birds
But there was a protest
My heart broke
This little robin was out of the nest
Before she could fly
And I live with a Yorkie
Who was sniffing the yard
I grabbed the dog
Taking her back inside
And returned
To understand
This little bird would die
The mother was overhead now
And I put the bird in a basket
To take her beyond the reach
Of Alex though surely
Into the paw
Of one of the cats that roam
Some will say: Itâs Mother Natureâs
way Some will say: Itâs Natural
Some will say: It is out of your hands
There is Nothing you can do about it
But it still breaks my heart
To know that little robin
Cannot be saved
TEREZIN: WHERE THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND DIED BUT IT WAS NOT A DEATH CAMP
I donât want you
To watch me sleeping I donât want you
To look worriedly
Over me
In some hospital bed
Tied up with tubes
Laboring over my breath
Until I take that last one
And release my energy
There was a deer
In the middle of Highway 81
She had been hit
And could not run
While waiting for some uninterested trucker
She held up her head
And