Hard to watch somebody lose their mind
Maybe everybody should just go get stoned
My father said it happens all the time
I knew a woman lost her to soul to wine
But who doesn’t live with their life on loan?
Shame to watch somebody lose their mind
Don’tchu gotta wonder when people say they’re fine?
Given what we’re given, I guess they actin grown
I think I used to say that all the time
When my parents died, I coined a little shrine
And thought about all the stuff they used to own
Felt like I was gonna lose my mind
Used to have a friend who smiled all the time
Then he started sayin he could hear the devil moan
Hate to see a brotha lose his gotdam mind
Doesn’t matter how you pull, the hours break the line
Mirror, Mirror on the wall, how come nobody’s home?
Broke my soul for real, when my mother lost her mind
Tried to keep my head right, but sanity’s a climb
Been workin on the straight face—I guess my cover’s blown
My father tried to tell me all the time
Had one last question, baby, but maybe never mind
After’while, even springtime starts to drone
Hard to see somebody lose their mind
My pop said, “Boy, it happens all the time”
Copyright © 2022 by Tim Seibles. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 21, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
for father and son
Jesús José Medrano went away
no more motel rooms to clean
he asked my dad to take his place
when Dad cried and looked the other way
the mortician closed the coffin on the body
Jesús José Medrano went away
He wore his best gray suit that day
hovered slowly above the family
he asked my dad to take his place
My father marched the casket to the grave
the relatives cried in the out-loud dream
Jesús José Medrano went away
My grandfather, farmworker among grapes,
measured a man tying vines in his teens
he asked my dad to take his place
Como un hombre, he would say
my father’s tears never seen
Jesús José Medrano went away
he asked my dad to take his place
From In the Cavity of Sunsets (Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2009). Copyright © 2009 by Michael Luis Medrano. Used with the permission of Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe.
but
it
poured
into
me
I didn’t eat the ocean but the waves of the
south the east the west and the north
lapped against my feet and my soles drank
in the saltwater i didn’t eat the roads but a
thousand miles of asphalt rebuilt my bones
filling in all the faultlines all the places worn
down to breakage i didn’t eat the monte but
the earth the scent of earth the scent of
monte the scent of lluvia filled me and filled
me and remade my flesh i didn’t run with the
coyotes but i howled with them i howled with
them and
remembered
what
freedom
was
i didn’t eat the wind but it found my mouth
and poured in and i felt my wings my
shriveled long forgotten wings filling and
stretching and reaching and unfolding how
was it i’d forgotten myself how was it i’d
collapsed and collapsed in on myself i didn't
eat the sun but all the light came streaming
in and oh with what gladness with what
relief with what joy i received it so much
light when i hadn't even known
i’d
been
sitting
in
the
dark
Copyright © 2026 by ire’ne lara silva. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 25, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.