A Tyrant Seeks Conclusion in the Known Self
In California we went to the dive bar and I lost my wallet I remember falling into it And maybe kissing against someone’s garage I fell on city sidewalks In California and other places The trees looked at me tenderly I’m guessing You do not love me because your mom did not love you I understand the equation Meanwhile, I make a butter fire in the kitchen Two times I heat the butter for the eggs Both times I burn it Just observe, I tell My students, describe what is The woman next to me on the airplane Moves pictures from her wallet to her pocket In case we die I cry with my eyes closed and the Sprite goes by The unconscious drives us to master The childhood situation I wonder if there are spiders Here, in the carpet or between the seats A place with bugs is so Much more friendly The book I am reading tells me Ours is an earthbound crisis That until we cease to dominate With doing, we will fail At being My fingernails Are the color of rotten peaches On Orcas Island there’s a stone tower on top of Mt. Constitution Some days you can see for miles, the many Mountain ranges and pine-crusted bodies In my mind I practice dying I throw myself over the edge The plane is making its way into the streaking Sun of this country In Mexico I slept in a clay structure facing the ocean I could hear the wind constantly I bought you a tin heart with a hole in it I brought it back in my backpack In bed you said Don’t make fun of me When I’m old, okay? When I think of your face I have to think of me You are holding my knee And now I look into you Now I look up and face The abject fear I am an animal The bedroom is trees Go limp a voice tells me When a person passes me on their way to the restroom I pretend they are the kindly face Of god Look deep into the eyes Of the divine It’s so beautiful isn’t it To believe you are looking At the future
Credit
Copyright © 2013 by Emily Kendal Frey. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on December 17, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.
About this Poem
"We all want to know the future: who we'll be, where, with whom, and when. We think our minds will keep us safe, but they won't. I don't want my plane to fall from the sky with a black heart. When I'm up there I try to feel all the love I'm afraid of on the ground."
—Emily Kendal Frey
Date Published
12/17/2013