one coming slant
through leaves of trees
green and quiet
that tans the arm and shoulder
the one that comes with days
heralded by birds
the one you take nap in
the other fierce like cutting knives
or bullets perforating
the sac of skin they call the body
the one composed of rays that sear the eyes
that awful light that cauterizes
one gives birth to vines and trees
and offers fruit
it warms the pond
where fish are hatched
among the ropes of frog eggs
the other blackens with its brilliance
and disavows the flesh of man
the one we harvested and opened up
above hiroshima and nagasaki
both these lights i crave
in darkness yes
when there aren’t enough blankets
both these lights demand
both we hold beneath the tongue
that winnower of men
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Wednesday, November 02, 2016
An entry from 2007
I cling to memories of visions of what once was.
Midnight taxi rides through Zanzibar streets, damp heat so continual I forgot it was there, ginger tea, the odor of green wood smoking in a cooking fire, the red glowing coals carried on a banana leaf in the dark of night and spilled across the hard packed earth. I remember how coals bounced across the darkness and came to rest in random patterns. I wondered if that was how the stars were scattered across the Universe. "Do you know what stars are?" I asked Nelson as we walked back to his grandmother's house.
"Ndiyo, Taa za Mungu" (Yes, the lanterns of God)
Now, nearly seven years later maybe he has a different answer. Many I knew I'm sure have died by now, many have felt forgotten by God, or were angry with Him having died unknown or unremembered, writing devil heads on letters they sent hoping, begging, pleading for medicine, some cure, some dawa, friends whom I abandoned in their hour of need.
A well gone dry.
A mountain rose in the distance outside my window. It was always there, looming in the background, always in photographs juxtaposed against the dumpy rundown streets, always there, like Zaire Music (long after Zaire was gone, long after Mobutu grew old and pitiful —just giving up— and much, much longer than Patrice Lumumba, whose body vanished, but whose name and words burned like the coal glowing in the dark on the cold earth, reminiscent of the innumerable stars that lay scattered across space and time).
I desperately cling to memories of visions of what once was.
Banana trees rattling their broad leaves in the breezes of afternoon, rich green beneath billowing white clouds set in the bluest sky. For the briefest of times came peace and rest. Yes, for the briefest of times.
The visions fade, their luminescence ebbs away at last in the midst of midnight's darkness, disturbing my sleep, and I myself uncertain if it is for good or ill.
Midnight taxi rides through Zanzibar streets, damp heat so continual I forgot it was there, ginger tea, the odor of green wood smoking in a cooking fire, the red glowing coals carried on a banana leaf in the dark of night and spilled across the hard packed earth. I remember how coals bounced across the darkness and came to rest in random patterns. I wondered if that was how the stars were scattered across the Universe. "Do you know what stars are?" I asked Nelson as we walked back to his grandmother's house.
"Ndiyo, Taa za Mungu" (Yes, the lanterns of God)
Now, nearly seven years later maybe he has a different answer. Many I knew I'm sure have died by now, many have felt forgotten by God, or were angry with Him having died unknown or unremembered, writing devil heads on letters they sent hoping, begging, pleading for medicine, some cure, some dawa, friends whom I abandoned in their hour of need.
A well gone dry.
A mountain rose in the distance outside my window. It was always there, looming in the background, always in photographs juxtaposed against the dumpy rundown streets, always there, like Zaire Music (long after Zaire was gone, long after Mobutu grew old and pitiful —just giving up— and much, much longer than Patrice Lumumba, whose body vanished, but whose name and words burned like the coal glowing in the dark on the cold earth, reminiscent of the innumerable stars that lay scattered across space and time).
I desperately cling to memories of visions of what once was.
Banana trees rattling their broad leaves in the breezes of afternoon, rich green beneath billowing white clouds set in the bluest sky. For the briefest of times came peace and rest. Yes, for the briefest of times.
The visions fade, their luminescence ebbs away at last in the midst of midnight's darkness, disturbing my sleep, and I myself uncertain if it is for good or ill.
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