Wednesday, March 9, 2016

two poems about violence (the splendiferous varied truth of the spider and in the stairwell)

the splendiferous varied truth of the spider

staring for a good long time

i can not train my eyes to see
what my mind knows -

     the spider dangling from nothing
     is not dangling from nothing.

it is a trick of the eye,

in fact i am hanging over here,
up north, in canada, in my life.

     there's a thread 
     whether you can see it or not.

and those who would deem me
an immoral, a liar,

     i know they're not defying gravity
     all those miles away to the south.

and while we're at this saying, let's admit
one web is that and only that, one web,

a line.

it's the weaving together like dna
where the tensile thread of truth comes into sight.

     we're all dangling
     and whether we like it or not

we're all dangling together. 


in the stairwell

it was fifth grade. there was an assembly.
i remember the stairs. small steps forced,
warm bodies close like cattle. she grabbed me. 
there was steam everywhere. we were hot. 
was it springtime? light through the windows 
amplified. fifth grade. maybe our pubic hair was
about to unravel. she had breasts. i had none.
when she grabbed me in her fists... well, 
first of all, i hadn't seen it coming. i hadn't
added up any events. i was just pleased
with my calculator and my pencil case.
maybe i liked my shoes. maybe i didn't.
and then her nose in front of me like a bull.
what could i do? nancy was bigger than me
in her anger. if i'd have fought she'd have hurt me. 
if i didn't i was going to be pulverized.
but what made her angriest was that
even though she had my shirt in her fists
her fists were aggressively empty.