Sunday, May 20, 2012

To My Father

If I should die before I wake,
my soul is up for grabs--
that Green Room of my childhood
prepared me for nothing. 
A  prayer leads me through
dream hallways like  throats,
dark and self-lubricating.  The voice

before the swallow, the belly grumbles
while we pray, the need never seems
to leave.  God bless the daddy
of all-white children, those he terrorized
and the one he did not. 
Daddy, bless the children with
all-white children.  His love unbent
like a coat-hanger snaking
through dark sensibility, snagging
anything foreign.  If I should die
before this yearning breaks, a flood
around my feet....God bless the mommy and the daughter,

the great-grandchildren, cinnamon and small;
fragile prayer of something better than great-grandpa’s
hate for the fragment of his population, dear daddy-god,
that he won’t reclaim.  Bless God, I will not wait.

No comments:

Post a Comment