Friend

Friend, if I heard you call my name

my body would break

like scattering fish. There are owl’s

wings opening and closing over

our eyes when we think of the past.

Carrying the years on your back

for months now? I don’t want to open

a fresh box of recriminations.

Luckily, I finally heard of your recent

misfortunes. Let me say something

sincere: I have had my image, also,  

hover over the auto-de-fe flicker.

My judgment fed on feelings,
too. A morning choked before
it could raise its simple smile.

But what do you think a resurrection

looks like on this side of the grave?

And have you ever tried to kick

from this side of the womb?

Listen, I’ve discovered a way

to arrest the flow of time.

One million voices transplant

themselves in your dreams and snort

and cough in the moments between

your words and mine,

meaning to interrupt us. Breathe

out an ancestor’s wisdom.
It’s like someone fixed a window

in my heart’s building today.

My heart retains a little more warmth.
Listen. Sink your teeth deep

into this life and don’t let go.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

first, I believe that all written poetry is a leftist enterprise. The whole "speaking from the breath of the ancestors', the glorification of togetherness,
love. Hence, the process is universal and not conservative. (which is not the opposite, but I think you understand G.) The speakers voice is so dominant without pleading: "But what do you think a resurrection looks like this side of the grave"? Building to this wonderful ending...."don't let go",
friend, lover, person in my life, soul mate, important one.
I have forever been a fan or yours.....I just don't know why you don't submit more of your work....beautifully written....dana