Friday 16 December 2016

last year today

It is the second night of hannukah
All the doors are still open
Years have passed since the decision
Not to render beautifully—
On the trolley home I run into a doctor friend.
He has more money than me.
We pull each other out—
Me his face from the book
Him my feet from the bar I would drop on.
As we speak, it strikes midnight and it is his birthday.
I go home and cash checks on the duct taped screen of the computer my parents bought me in highschool.
Certain things have to last.
The drawers with all the most precious things have holes in them
Where the first letter from sara goes missing
Where the years worth of half dollars my uncle sam collected for me
Can’t call back.
It is forced to be ok—24 hours in brooklynn
Whose final 3 are beyond memory
And then back without a word from anyone I saw
Or anyone I left.
My girlfriend is angry I don’t love her enough,
So these days we are drifting apart.
I won’t sacrifice feeling good about my heart
As long as it beats.
Some things catch you by surprise
Since you were 13—your ability to listen,
The distinction between you and you,
A willingness to sacrifice ad infinitum for an idea of a life.
Whose revolution? And when?
I am annoyed with the flamboyant educated black men I went to school with
For loving themselves more than I allow myself.
The candles are downstairs heating the house,
And a cat with 10 fingers and trouble balancing
Looks me in the eyes as I close the lights and decide
Tonight is a wash, tonight will not break me through
He asks me” have you moved on
From the road to yourself
From your striving into some great way
And some huge feeling
And something more?

“I do not think you have”

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