Boots XIV
Boots dragged the small body over the pile of blades.
He swung the little boy high into the air,
high above the bodies of his dead parents.
Someday, a woman will trace the long white scars on your back
and ask where they came from.
Boots kicked the boy.
If your child is born with no arms or legs, will it seem unfair?
Boots was proud of his fine endowments.
All the old ghosts will be replaced with new ones.
Someday, a woman will trace the long white scars on your back
and ask where they came from.
Someday, a woman will trace the long white scars on your back
and ask where they came from.
The white of the little boy’s eyes stared straight at Boots.
Someday, your child will ask you what you did during the war.
Skin peeled away like the flesh of a potato.
If your child is born with no arms or legs, will it seem unfair?
Someday, reporters will ask you what you did during the war.
The child’s arms were around the waist of his mother.
He swung the little boy lower, lower to the ground,
until the body was dragging over the ground.
He scattered a handful of razorblades over the ground.
This will all fade to yearly get-togethers with old army buddies.
Bombs set just over the next hill, a sunset in the wrong direction.
A Natural Progression
I see him resting in his crib, tiny fist
curled and tucked beneath his cheek, breath
coming in and going out in soft
little sighs–I could watch him forever. Somewhere,
far away
in another future I could have had
acolytes in academia
college graduation with a ribboned bundle of diploma
family scattered happy in the crowd
proud of someone
who isn’t me. This is me.
I have succumb to the rhythms
of hourly feedings, the meditative tasks of changing,
washing, powdering, listening
to his change of breath from sleeping to
almost awake, my body relaxing when he is relaxed
my breasts suddenly heavy at his first
tiny cries–
My father sends me letters, telling me
I will never be a writer
and a mother, that the two things
take too much of one’s time to exist
simultaneously. He says this to me
without anger, or resentment
the words of a man too old and too tired
to dream. I dip fingers into a tiny palm
feel my baby son squeeze back and I disagree,
I disagree–this is all inspiration.
This is all I need to know.
What to Come In
can’t put it into would
have to (incredible city)
his family (hotel) in words
lobby to stand the name
was
and he (San Antonio) it is
beside me in a cross of spotless
white, I understand him
received and then themselves with
wait
you from a (place like a) we are
bells just won’t stop ringing! across
from a gold mine, I deal
(in California) would you
now what
Holly Day