The Spring Cricket Repudiates His Parable of Negritude
–Rita DoveHell,
we just climbed. Reached the lip
and fell back, slippedand started up again––
climbed to be climbing, sangto be singing. It’s just what we do.
No one bothered to analyze our bluesuntil everybody involved
was strung out or dead; to solveeverything that was happening
while it was happeningwould have taken some serious opium.
Seriously: All wisdomis afterthought, a sort of helpless relief.
So don’t go thinking none of this griefbelongs to you: Even if
you don’t know how itfeels to fall, you can get my drift;
and I, who live itdaily, have heard
that perfect wordenough to know just when
to use it––as in:Oh hell. Hell, no.
No ––this is hell.
Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash