Marie’s choice:
“But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.”
Poetry Reading
The lines he wrote were scratched in ink, some smears
along the margins. Folded words he penned
to her with loops of L’s and O’s in Bic
he borrowed. Rhyming words with silly pleas
to never leave him, figures sketched beside
his poem drawn to make her smile. That note
he wrote in English class when Mr. Hughes
was teaching sonnets, verse and metered feet
while tapping beats, “da, Dum, da, Dum da, Dum.”
He slipped the page across the aisle to Joe
who passed it––Hughes then grabbed the note and read
the poem. Mouths agape, they stared at both
who blushed and shook while Hughes kept reading all
to twenty kids who did not move or hear
a single word. The fate of couplets, verse
and trochees lost in fear and horror shared.
The lesson learned, the note returned, the class
then left the room. His poem shared, he bowed
his head and dropped the note into the trash.
She pulled it out and pressed his fragile words
into her breast. She hid that note inside
her book. The poem fresh, she breathed his verse.
—Mirabai
this kid pierces me though
turns my body to flash fire
a feral look beyond rage
and i can’t be sure what species
we belong to
the bear or the beetle
something that eats its young
or destroys its sire
in that accusation
is the crucible of years
the deadly kung fu
of unappeasable caterwaul
and the reason after reasons flee
impulse before libraries of wisdom
surrender of shedding live skin
sure as any animal is chemical
adrenaline will not let me sleep
i need a new lair
i need a medicinal berry
or for the moon to set
and in the morning
this kid runs balm through me
a beatific smile beyond cosmic
and i’m still not sure what species
we belong to
the bear or the beetle
something that carries its young
to the only safe corner of the ocean
or something whose only program
is to nourish its queen
with morning honey