from One With Others

     People study the dingy chenille clouds for a sign.

     People did what they have done.

     A town, a time, and a woman who lived there.

     And left undone what they ought not to have did.

          +++

     I take one more drive across town thinking about the retired welding teacher easing over that rise seeing the parking lot full of white men. I wonder if he thought he would die in the jungle [where no Vietcong ever called him [N-word]  ] or he would die in front of the bowling alley [without ever having been inside] or die in the swimming pool [without ever having been in it, except when drained, and the police had him in their sights]. Or if, because he was a young man, he would never die. I attach V to my driving-around thoughts.

     An object unworthy of love she thought she was.

     It was a cri de coeur.

     Those of our get had given her a nom de guerre: V.

     A simple act, to join a march against fear

     down an old military road.

     We were watching an old movie the night

     the table started walking toward us

     and there was trouble on Division.

     She became a disaffiliated member [of her race].

     I'm one of them now, she said, upon release

     from jail. I am an invader.

     Look into the dark heart and you will see what the dark eats other than your heart.

     The world is not ineluctably finished

     though the watchfires have been doused

     more walls have come down

     more walls are being built

     Sound of the future, uncanny how close

     to the sound of the old

     At Daddy's Eyes

     "Pusherman" still on the jukebox

     Everybody's past redacted

+++

                                                                                   For me

     it has always been a series of doors:

     if one is opened precipitously a figure is caught bolting from bed

     if another, a small table, a list of demands on school paper

     if another, a child on the linoleum, saying she wants a white doll

     a woman sitting on a bed, holding a folded flag

     a shelf of trophies behind her head

     an ironing board, bottle of bourbon on the end

     sewing machine on a porch

     To walk down the road without fear

     To sit in a booth and order a sweet soft drink

     To work at the front desk

     To be referred to as Gentleman

     To swim in the pool

     To sit in the front row and watch Run Wild, Run Free [next week: Death of a Gunfighter]

     To make your way to the end of the day with both eyes in your head

     Nothing is not integral

     You want to illumine what you see

     Fear reflected off an upturned face

     Those walnuts turning black in the grass

     It is a relatively stable world

     Gentle Reader

     But beyond that door

     It defies description