i. how wonderful it must feel,
to plant your feet on the ground
knowing that you came from it.
see, i was told i would find god here,
in this rose-adorned dead-end
but never mind, never mind
here, in his stead, is a green door that reminds you of home
here is a pavement, a tree, a moment of recognition—
the bush brings daffodils,
the cracked stone a white wall
of daddy longlegs,
and suddenly i remember everything, and i am devastated,
i am almost there, i am almost holy—
and then, nothing.
the only thing i know
is sky.
they're supposed to have that,
you know, where i'm from.
only the colour's a little different.
only it tilts.
ii. i imagine the place i'm from
in the image of where i live now.
it's just as dusty, just as monotone
although i like to think there's more
green, more red, that the streets run
with something other than blood,
like maybe rain, or stars,
or brown boys playing football.
still: something dark, something perverse
coils in the yellow air, makes it shimmer
like a dream. here it is, finally, the tragedy of it all—
i am destined to die here, in this place
where summer is eternal
and everything is a time machine.
in this place where i will always be
a betrayer, a lost thing,
a present-absent alien
a misplaced person,
even in this place
meant for misplaced people
whether i like it
or not.
iii. how wonderful it must feel,
to know exactly what it means
to be holy.
my mother explains:
he did this to us, that's true.
he set you up, that's true.
but he's going to make up for it.
because he loves us. he loves you, all of you.
even your hands.
and i know, she says,
before i can interrupt
with my hard eyes, my hard mouth
i know
love is not eternal
but don't worry, don't
worry. it has baby gums.
iv. so i stop worrying.
he loves me, and
he will take my accusations
in stride.
v. slowly
i am learning the difference
between
'where i'm from'
and 'home'
between
'father'
and 'god'
(i think the two might be related,
somehow)
vi. god.
i wanted for melodrama. for action and reaction,
victimhood and vulgarity, and for none of it to make any sense.
instead i got summer. i got tragedy.
i got a clean, inexorable force. i got a narrative
that precedes me, that does not care
about me, that never will.
typical.
