•1• no, none of these dead are mine. nor their photographs, or whatever they were given as epitaphs, or the shape of their bodies writ however briefly into the grass.
not even their names. nothing on this continent belongs. you push me down on the bed and i surrender. in my sleep i dream your language overarching, geographic. if i had any incense i would burn it. years ago you told me about grief
but i knew already, i saw you hollow. but you never understood absence, how it fills a body up, the enormity of always too late and never good enough. you say let me take you home and i do, though there is no such thing
as a homeplace. if i were to die tomorrow would you remember all that i am? me with all the ghosts, the grasping roots, the name no one could say and that i didn't choose.
Lumi: they stand no chance against the JAG SAFETY BLANKET
•• •• •• i thought maybe i should go. told the small animal of my body: here is a hiding place where i can bury you and i together. where the earth will be like a hand upon our face. and we can be happy.
(but god was there in the dark with us god was the voice that said no)
Lumi: they stand no chance against the JAG SAFETY BLANKET
I dig these diaspora pieces!
