Arrangement
for and in solidarity with Palestine
One can die for a long time. Mother points
to the floor and I bend. Universe not hidden
in the hip joint, baruch atah crumbs. Cameo
of stranger dangles in her ear. That we must
love abstracted survival, blank lines, a river
town in Jersey where whitetails sip grass and
dogs whimper their manufactured breed. Wet bottom
of my elder, her slow drag up steps. Sluice
the wine trapped in Great Uncle’s lap, sour balladic
invasion Eloheinu, a feral soda spill, egg crumbs,
intaglio of iridescent beetle, the pendant pinned to
nylon. I wear the mother of my aunt on the pinky.
What we do with the dead jeweler is wear
her stones on kin and kiln. Like I swear I
recall the carnelian in the velvet box she pressed
into my hand. They ask when I will push out
the godhead of poetry. Bulk head of the bull between
my knees. When will I push out the godhead of poetry?
It is so good I think to be loved. Slouching did my
people go, I erstwhile wicked son. The feast
we call order can be arranged to believe, to taste
bodycount, territory, fondled land bushed and barracked
and tilled. Fruit crumbs, tenemos kohen juice blended
Sephardic. Glory be thy lobbied forces. But aunt
fastens a bronze feather into my hair, thick curls stripped
by nerve oils, she scrapes my scalp awake. I pull back
baby strands with a money clip, twirl once for lineage.
Bitter leaf of lyric, to be changed I must shred
crewel of metals: Zinc, Iron, Osmium, Nickel. That which
must take no for an must burn the killing answer.
must take no for an must burn the killing answer.
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