Shatter, February 5 2010

Look up there the car landed
in front of us and behind
the sign rewind to the tree
which upended
the roots savagely torn
teased bad hair or tangled
necklaces and then
this car landed

in the middle of the road
it teetered like a quarter
does before it ends the spin.

Inside were no bodies
no cries it turned
the color of a shipwreck
as it condensed.

My foot out of the door
cigarette flung dramatically
after one last puff to prepare
for that, ready to apply care
to caution, fate, prognosis
to cure, align, designate
pump, call, interupt
and drive over the shatter.

It is the case that there are no accidents

no trees suddenly uprooted or cars
burning or blocking the way.
It is the case that for each one
the vision made particular sense
that day but had it occurred
in two weeks (as it must,
somewhere else) the meaning
would be quite different.

II.


An owl was killed on this road,
I wrapped him, prayed, touched
his beautiful feathers, looked
into his eyes and his life
that I supposedly had taken away
then I laid him in the proper direction
under a mesquite and walked away.

A tree was uprooted in this place.
The wind had knocked it down
but ignored the others. I cut it
into several pieces and will wait
to burn it next year.

A car was flipped in front of us.
I stopped and looked at it,
tried to contain my pride,
the knowledge of witness
and I told the driver
to thank Allah before I left.

I met several people at the right time,
in the right place. Her Quincinera
will not proceed, her object
had been stolen or given away.
There was nothing but to grieve
with her, learn to live quietly,
to watch, to pay attention.

His glasses and her glasses
broke at the very
same hour, on the very same day
and at maghrib, the ability to see
is very important. Very important.

Two groups of birds came in
at dusk with a great noise.
Last year if you remember,
we were almost ready to leave
the pond in Elfrida, the birds
seemed to have gone away,
already performed their migration,
and then all of a sudden
a group flew directly over us,
over me and reminded us
to be patient, last year.
I informed you of this thing.

Yesterday at the pond
which had been refreshed
with winter rains, I knew to be patient,
I learned to wait, to walk slower.
I walked to the other side
of the pond so that I wouldn't
be tempted to leave before
they returned from their day's
journey, to witness their
beautiful return. I wasn't wrong
and not one but two very large groups
came in from two different directions,
aiming for the same reflection
on the water in the core
of this old desert.
Not just large groups, but really large.
The noise that they made
was enormous. They wrote
a verse on the sky
but I couldn't read it,
I could only hear
their recitation
at maghrib, after all
the watchers had abandoned
not just the banks of the pond
but the great colors
and great darkness
after the sun sheds
its light on the water,
the cranes, the maghrib, the peace,
the blessed events and reactions.

III.

The birds fight too
they don't remember
They do not write it down.



The Flock, February 28 2009

-we keep asking the dead
all the wrong questions. -Darla Whitehead, The Long Storm


Here the word ends,
End too to end tends,
At you no end bends. -Musavi Garmarudi

9:00 a.m.

The tumour showed up
on the way to Oklahoma
about four years ago,
I believe in Jesus
she said to me
we're on our way
and can't take it
haggling over the price
of like new glass end tables
or sins, I don't know-
it's a yard sale,
I believe in Jesus
beet red, I must have turned
to look at the knick-knacks.
Her husband wants to be
a mortician she says,
in Oklahoma I believe in Jesus,
as if belief in lymphoma
makes it right.
Her wig band clearly visible
the sallow blend of skin
she was always brown
always believed in Jesus
though, amen, amen, amen.

5:45 p.m.

at Whitewater Draw
where the Sandhill Cranes
come and go on a yearly basis,
water table drops and leaves
cracky mud and gnats, the flock
mostly on the far banks
unwilling to move in a little
closer so that we might
hear them or feel their
territorial bicker.
Oh, last October there were 15,000
that left in March.
It's only February now
and the sun is setting down,
real fast, it is hopeless.
At the very last moment,
just like Firon when the sea
finally convinced him
one large group circled over
and the pattern
of wings as the sun
lit up the feathers
from underneath,
and the engine
of wings roaring
and the breeze
and yes,
the Good News
just before the Magrhib.

1:30 p.m.

The Jehovah's Witness
comes over about
once a month to bring
us the new Watchtower.
She is a real nice lady afterall.
I keep telling myself,
don't talk back, don't talk back.