On The Difficulty Of Documentation (audio only)
Click the icon above to listen to this audio poem.
From the Academy of American Poets Audio Archive. www.poets.org. All rights reserved.
Click the icon above to listen to this audio poem.
From the Academy of American Poets Audio Archive. www.poets.org. All rights reserved.
Now that we have come out of hiding,
Why would we live again in the tombs we’d made out of our souls?
And the sundered bodies that we’ve reassembled
With prayers and consolations,
What would their torn parts be, other than flesh?
Now that we have tasted hope
And dressed each other’s wounds with the legends of our
oneness
Would we not prefer to close our mouths forever shut
On the wine that swilled inside them?
Foresee how dried, yellowed,
with neglect, think
of the hands that made them,
not with love, with certainty,
the leather smooth decades later,
the pages warm as wood,
the thought reaching a seed
that fell from a bird’s flight,
It’s late and your heart skips watching
that young man fight. The Garden, the left
jab lashes like a frog’s tongue catching
a fly. There you go again with an undeft
image to his arthropod conceit. You know he’ll win,
an old victory. They hate him there, sore
that he joined your faith, a strapping boy, skin
hairless almost feminine. He’d kept you up before,
your father waking you at dawn to watch the thrilla,
the rumble, even the shamble in Nagasaki
fighting a wrestler, a prone Japanese guerrilla,
bruising the elegant legs. What was he