I am waiting
–Lawrence FerlinghettiI am waiting for my case to come upand I am waitingfor a rebirth of wonderand I am waiting for someoneto really discover Americaand wailand I am waitingfor the discoveryof a new symbolic western frontierand I am waitingfor the American Eagleto really spread its wingsand straighten up and fly rightand I am waitingfor the Age of Anxietyto drop deadand I am waitingfor the war to be foughtwhich will make the world safefor anarchyand I am waitingfor the final withering awayof all governmentsand I am perpetually awaitinga rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the Second Comingand I am waitingfor a religious revivalto sweep thru the state of Arizonaand I am waitingfor the Grapes of Wrath to be storedand I am waitingfor them to provethat God is really Americanand I am waitingto see God on televisionpiped onto church altarsif only they can findthe right channelto tune in onand I am waitingfor the Last Supper to be served againwith a strange new appetizerand I am perpetually awaitinga rebirth of wonderI am waiting for my number to be calledand I am waitingfor the Salvation Army to take overand I am waitingfor the meek to be blessedand inherit the earthwithout taxesand I am waitingfor forests and animalsto reclaim the earth as theirsand I am waitingfor a way to be devisedto destroy all nationalismswithout killing anybodyand I am waitingfor linnets and planets to fall like rainand I am waiting for lovers and weepersto lie down together againin a new rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossedand I am anxiously waitingfor the secret of eternal life to be discoveredby an obscure general practitionerand I am waitingfor the storms of lifeto be overand I am waitingto set sail for happinessand I am waitingfor a reconstructed Mayflowerto reach Americawith its picture story and tv rightssold in advance to the nativesand I am waitingfor the lost music to sound againin the Lost Continentin a new rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the daythat maketh all things clearand I am awaiting retributionfor what America didto Tom Sawyerand I am waitingfor Alice in Wonderlandto retransmit to meher total dream of innocenceand I am waitingfor Childe Roland to cometo the final darkest towerand I am waitingfor Aphroditeto grow live armsat a final disarmament conferencein a new rebirth of wonderI am waitingto get some intimationsof immortalityby recollecting my early childhoodand I am waitingfor the green mornings to come againyouth’s dumb green fields come back againand I am waitingfor some strains of unpremeditated artto shake my typewriterand I am waiting to writethe great indelible poemand I am waitingfor the last long careless raptureand I am perpetually waitingfor the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urnto catch each other up at lastand embraceand I am awaitingperpetually and forevera renaissance of wonder
Month: February 2021
planet
Standardfrom Planet
–Stanley Plumly
Photo by Chris Lloyd on Unsplash
if you are over
StandardIf You Are Over Staying Woke
–Morgan ParkerWater
the plants. Drink
plenty of water.
Don’t hear
the news. Get
bored. Complain
about the weather.
Keep a corkscrew
in your purse.
Swipe right
sometimes.
Don’t smile
unless you want
to. Sleep in.
Don’t see the news.
Remember what
the world is like
for white people.
Listen to
cricket songs.
Floss. Take pills.
Keep an
empty mind.
When you are
hungover
do not say
I’m never drinking
again. Be honest
when you’re up
to it. Otherwise
drink water
lie to yourself
turn off the news
burn the papers
skip the funerals
take pills
laugh at dumb shit
fuck people you
don’t care about
use the crockpot
use the juicer
use the smoothie maker
drink water
from the sky
don’t think
too much about the sky
don’t think about water
skip the funerals
close your eyes
whenever possible
When you toast
look everyone in the eyes
Never punctuate
the President
Write the news
Turn
into water
Water
the fire escape
Burn the paper
Crumble the letters
Instead of
hyacinths pick
hydrangeas
Water the hydrangeas
Wilt the news
White the hydrangeas
Drink the white
Waterfall the
cricket songs
Keep a song mind
Don’t smile
Don’t wilt
funeral
funeral
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
materials
StandardMaterials
–Nava EtShalom
Gave a heart to fire, preferred
the hollow chest, filledtwo hands with my body —
back-to-chest, palm-to-hip.Two forgotten countries
carried on with local plans–I never made anything
but a concession to thunder.
Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
housekeeping
StandardHousekeeping
–Natasha TretheweyWe mourn the broken things, chair legswrenched from their seats, chipped plates,the threadbare clothes. We work the magicof glue, drive the nails, mend the holes.We save what we can, melt small piecesof soap, gather fallen pecans, keep neck bonesfor soup. Beating rugs against the house,we watch dust, lit like stars, spreadingacross the yard. Late afternoon, we drawthe blinds to cool the rooms, drive the bugsout. My mother irons, singing, lost in reverie.I mark the pages of a mail-order catalog,listen for passing cars. All day we watchfor the mail, some news from a distant place.
Photo by Dan-Cristian Pădureț on Unsplash
classroom
StandardHow
–Rudy Francisco
did you learn to live without me?Your absence became
a classroom.
Photo by Roman Mager on Unsplash
pity
StandardPity
–Camille T. DungyChrist bore what suffering he could and dieda young man, but you waited years to learnhow to heal. Only when you could did youtouch the man whose body blistered for yours.You posted him no news for sixteen terms,then just a signed graduation notice.The letter he wrote that week asked only,Now that your books are closed, can boys come in?At your wedding, you buried the womanyou thought you knew inside a stranger’s name.This is how you found yourself: thirty-three,nursing a son. Soon there was another.Your mind had already begun to walk.But you were a mother. Those cribs held you.
Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash
parting
StandardParting Makes Simple Sense
–Katia Kapovich
Photo by jenna duffy on Unsplash
lineage
StandardLineage
–Margaret WalkerMy grandmothers were strong.They followed plows and bent to toil.They moved through fields sowing seed.They touched earth and grain grew.They were full of sturdiness and singing.My grandmothers were strong.My grandmothers are full of memoriesSmelling of soap and onions and wet clayWith veins rolling roughly over quick handsThey have many clean words to say.My grandmothers were strong.Why am I not as they?
Photo by Goh Rhy Yan on Unsplash
space is arched
StandardSpace is Arched
–Svetlana Kekova