What Do You Make of That?
I make of it disaster. I make of it
a small ship sinking. A red-gleam
apple, underside soft brown,
maggoted. I make of it poison
sumac. The thick stillness
that precedes a tin roof torn off.
I make of it last ocean swim,
last orangest tulip, last Malbec
unfettered by last. I make of it
a loom on which I daily weave
my own undoing, the wefts
what ifs, the warps the when.
I make of it a sharp pine needle
at my back, urging me forward.
I make of it, sometimes,
propulsion, Lake Lucerne
in June, the tickets booked.
I make of it yes. I make of it maybe
never again, so. I make of it but now.
I make of it the corn maze
in October, the sad dry stalks
but my god that sky
behind them. And I make of it
how I love that sky more —
hot blue, so bright it stings —
the further in I go.
* * * * *
We All Know We Don’t Have Nearly Enough Lifeboats
I am tired of the air conditioning.
I have opened the terrible candied almonds.
A mile down the road from my silent neighborhood
the bars are full of bright shirts, hot breath.
I am watching my country point
to its own dying body and yell Hoax!
Always, everyone is predictable — the practiced
defenses, the war metaphors. I want
someone to surprise me. I want a letter
to work, a phone call, an election. I know
by now that rage can’t turn the ship,
but maybe it can flood the ocean
with a new ocean, lift the hulking vessel
so it glides right over the ice.
Give the ship a chance to make it
out toward open sea. Give it a chance
again to be wrecked by something
other than its own tenacity.
* * * * *
Autumn, Mississippi
What I want is a red
so vast and quaking
I stumble before it.
A yellow to envelop me.
I want to be abducted,
ribcaged by ruby.
Down here, I am starved
for dying leaves,
the pines too stately
in their green furs,
the magnolias glossy
and unchanging.
How much color
are we allotted in a life?
The evergreens
are tricksters: preserve
yourself, they whisper.
But I want elms
clanging with gold,
maples scarlet-raucous.
I want a landscape
as loud as my mind.
Teach me to be reckless
with my ardor.
To cover the earth
with my falling
and innumerable hearts.