“WHEN THEY SAY YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN, WHAT THEY MEAN IS YOU WERE NEVER THERE” by Marty Mcconnell
[ID: Maybe it’s time to celebrate the hideous. Not / to confess with some hope for absolution, / but to gather all terrible selves and minutes / and show them the trees, and the way the rain //
has just abated so the air has ocean in it / though we’re dry and waiting. Part of me died here / so another could go on. The body I raised and abandoned still walking the path on the hill / where I became larger than myself and the day //
could no longer contain me. Turns out, dust / can also recompose itself, a starfish arm / or lizard tail. What I cut off kept walking / without me, remembering the fireflies / on the broad lawn and plastic cups //
in dormitory basements, the tea house / and everything I made sure to forget / or shamelessly left in pursuit of the shining / next. I wish I could say everything I’ve done / and still be loved. I believe it is possible, / if I could remember it all and give it / mouth, neglected teeth, tongue, the ways / I’ve learned to breathe as if I were always / singing. I feel this enormous debt to the world / for letting me exist and do all the damage / my living requires. I’m hungry / and the tea is cold, the hill is a hill / no matter who I am. It will take a long time / to say the everything, and already //
some are turning away. It’s hard / work, witnessing at a birth. Blood / everywhere, and the awful quiet / between the screaming. You can bring / our shit like animals do and tomorrow / there will be a garden ringed / with lemons trees though by then //
we’ll be on our way gone. For luck, / afterbirth under the single poplar. / All the stopping and starting, interruptions / of prayer. Language as vehicle / and impediment. All the lives //
before this once, practice. Is that a castle / in your elbow? My clavicle’s made / of mud. I’m trying to tell you / about my fear. A door opening //
in another room. The way light changes / after rain, the air around a body after sweat. / I’m not finished yet. Somebody / kiss me now, right on the garden. / Everything’s coming up green. /end ID]
