Each day the identical now:
I wake her up—she’s a girl
within the making, and me,
I’m nonetheless a boy, given this accountability
of one other, and my boy,
he’s visiting his mom, one
thousand miles away. We drive
to highschool every morning, discussing
the state of all issues—
how she might want to use my razor
blades, for my legs, she says,
and armpits, besides she doesn’t say
armpits, she says for beneath my arms.
I point out the colour of the sky
at 8:15 a.m. being one thing like
the colour of her eyes seconds after she was born.
She responds by asking me
what verisimilitude means, and I inform her
to look it up. These are
the particulars of elevating Rumi.
Not like after we would as soon as maintain arms
and write our names within the snow.
Not like when she would go to sleep
within the bicycle seat tethered to my again
as we rode down Colorado pathways.
This is El Paso, the face with out
make-up. We can not disguise behind
hiding any longer. The dry cycle by no means dries the primary
go-round. Living alone is studying
to talk for each side
of the dialog. And God,
isn’t this true? And God replies,
it is just verisimilitude. Lately, I don’t have
a lot to say, besides I want
I might return to Hejira and
that wet cafe in Asheville, North Carolina.
I want I might return to the again
of the start, strive once more. Like a online game,
hit the reset button, throw
a love tantrum, power spherical pegs to suit
my sq. anatomy. I’ve all the time needed
a kitchen with a view of each side,
and now I’ve obtained two, El Paso / Juárez.
It’s like trying by a kaleidoscope that refracts
the surreality of our days. See right here,
a mountain preaches, with accent:
La Biblia es la verdad, leéla.
See right here, the river howls in American twang:
Go again to the place you come from.
Between the 2, a chaparral bows:
This shouldn’t be what brotherhood appears to be like like.
This shouldn’t be the dialog for Rumi, although.
She jogs my memory of this. Held up the chook.
Unnamed nonetheless. Trained it to land on her finger.
How it returns to its cage when it flies
too far. I’m the other. I return to flying
after I’m too far within the cage.
She’s all the time been a friend-soul
to me. More than a daughter.
The hierarchy is that this: I make her
eggs with arugula and toast. She eats them.
We try yoga within the mornings.
There is a peacefulness in our routine.
We don’t converse in regards to the day
when all of this
will likely be nothing extra
than a poem.