I think good things come from the south
unimpeded by my demands about what is necessary
or what will serve.
The river delta is in the south.
I feel its urge,
impossibly ascending from subterranean origins.
I place obstacles in the way
but the river is a strong god. You
will never coerce the river.
In its brown water, something
brushes against us, a branch,
or was it living? It is gone.
The river takes everything.
you just know it
no one can tell you otherwise.
I hit my little sister in the face with a rock
and knocked her out when she was six.
I was there
threw the rock across the backyard
watched her crumple like a ragdoll
thrilled at the definition of a parabola
nearly visible in midair
against the backdrop of birch forest.
I can't prove it.
But I know it happened.
Memory at best is an echo which
repeated long enough
Is my witness alone sufficient?
You say you know Jesus.
Just . . . you know.
You can't prove that any more
than I can prove I knocked
my little sister the fuck out with a rock.
I declare it on my authority.
I am the proof of my witness.
down the stairs hoping to get
your attention and you give me only broken ankles
What are you saying says the man
I have over fifty seven broken ankles my toes are not
much better off and my femur reeks of gangrene
Are you saying I push you down the stairs because I do
not love you the way I love a hot cabbage says the man
I am saying that I am killing myself for your love and all
you do is sniff your fingers
The stairs are draped in clothing says the man
Did I mention my knees are shattered because you do not love me and I smashed my face at the bottom
Please please I am trying to think says the man
Oh now it is your problem says the wife I am tying this
tourniquet and leaving you
Must you make so much noise when you walk screams
the man your insides rattle like a bag of broken glass
When I am gone your mouth will open and no one will
boil your oats
Must you must you must you go on says the man can't
you see I'm eating