Going to Press

IMG_6602
Going to Press

Each morning, my family sleeps
while I press

their lives into lines, 1500 thread-count
lines that curve and rise

like hills, the hill country they still
are in bed, momentarily

still, a geography of sound sleep
I enter, shaman-like,

as smoke, Dunhill Early Morning smoke,
soothsayer, saying

what they will not, won’t often think
to say, soothing

my way through floodplain covers—
the son’s abandon-

ment, order my school books,
please
, the wife’s

estrangement and my lies, why
did you hide

your travel plans to the hot July Delta, to
Blues, jukes and cotton—

why?
the daughter’s deep
hurt, a space big as

race, why did my real mom give
me up?


and why? is smoke and words,
a partial felling of trees

and clearing of land, a burning off
that leaves a line

of sight ending only in more trees,
a hard to say,

no matter how rich the alluvial plain
or straight or rising

toward dawn the fascicle
of lines.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s