Hard Times Require Furious Dancing

There is no
graceful
way
to
carry
hatred.
While
hidden
it is
everywhere.

&

so

we

lie

entwined

sun

on

our

eyes

knowing

our

heaven

&

sleeping

the

cat

between

us.

Alice loves me

and I am not blamed for this.

She knows —

& is weeping

even

in her sleep

while they laugh —

she knows

& keeps

the record

that

this

unspeakable

violation

of all of us

so briefly human

is happening

to me.

when you are

facing

your

final

eternal

moment

of

transformation;

whether by heat

or cold

uzi

or

machete

or “simple”

or complicated

by death

rape

or scorn;

your tears

causing

much amusement;

your efforts

to hide

your

shame

hilarious

to men

& boys

circling

your pain;

Remember

this —

say it

& know

it

is true:

Alice loves me

the driver said:

over there

& there

& there

& there

all mass graves

&

maybe Lorca*

in

one of them.

body;

loaded

down

with

firewood,

water

in leaking

plastic

jugs,

old clothes

from the

missionary

dump,

&

your

broken

heart;

pushing you

to slow

surrender

of

all you

were

&

are.

They have

a bad

track

record

of

mass graves.

I know

encountering

you

on

a deserted

road

they have

a tendency

to drive

their subsidized

jeeps

& armored

tanks

into

your defenseless

in
the midnight
hour
reminds us
mostly
of a
wound
we are not
wise
enough
to forget.

Carved
wood
or
stone
no matter its
well-kissed
perfection
or what beloved
teacher
it
represents

an even
warmer
thigh.