Inside Us, A Flower Taken Whole, A

If It Had Been A Heart Attack, The Newspapermight Have Used The Word Massive,as If A Mountain Range Had Openedinside Her, But Insteadit Used The Word Suddenly, A Light Coming Onin An Empty Room. The Telephonefell From My Shoulder, A Black Parrot Repeatingsomething Happened, Something Awfula Sunday, Dusky. If It Had Beenterminal, We Could Have Cradled Heras She Grew Smaller, Wiped Her Mouth,said Good-bye. But It Was Sudden,how Overnight We Could Be Orphaned& The World Became A Bell We'd Crawl Inside& The Ringing All We'd Eat.

Who Doesn't Want To Just Disappear, At Some Point In The Day, In A Year, To Just Step Off The Map And Float?

Sometimes I'd See My Father, Walking Past My Building On His Way To Another Nowhere. I Could Have Given Him A Key, Offered A Piece Of My Floor. A Futon. A Bed. But I Never Did. If I Let Him Inside I Would Become Him, The Line Between Us Would Blur, My Own Slow-motion Car Wreck Would Speed Up. The Slogan On The Side Of A Moving Company Truck Read Together We Are Going Places--modified By A Vandal Or A Disgruntled Employee To Read Together We Are Going Down. If I Went To The Drowning Man The Drowning Man Would Pull Me Under. I Couldn't Be His Life Raft.

I Believe Poetry Has Very Little To Do With Memory.

In My Experience, Whatever Happens Clings To Us Like Barnacles On The Hull Of A Ship, Slowing Us Slightly, Both Uglifying And Giving Us Texture. You Can Scrape All You Want, You Can, If You Have Money, Hire Someone Else To Scrape, But The Barnacles Will Come Back Or At Least Leave A Blemish On The Steel.