WHY DON’T YOU LET ME GO HOME?
Carlos said: Jesus lived to 33 +looked at me like I’d
never heard of him JESUS he emphasized He went
on to explain that in his youth he’d wanted to die when
Jesus had But when the noble age arrived he decided to
die at 50
Now well over that age he’s decided to stay 8 mths. ago
he took a young bride who currently resides in Cuba I saw
her photo as she frantically called his cell during the 12 hrs.
he painted my house We fell into an easy camaraderie Carlos
+me This is not the 1st time I have found a working man mystic
Ditto my roofer Bush He clutched my virgin poetry collection
+proposed Hasn’t this happened to you? The book came into his
hands as I mistook a lingering glance at a crack in the ceiling to involve
the bookcase below Oh you love books! Soon Bush had a strange look
all the while backing away from the poet who’d asked him too aggressively:
Can you ever really go home?
Can we? To that original self The earliest you who loved the smell of old
men (aftershave +wet dogs) The you who watched your Zaida wrestle
imaginary foes from a rocking chair made of metal+plywood +brown plastic
This in the living room where men in leotards wrestled each other on TV every
day after school
In his white shirtsleeves frail +near deaf Zaida a king among men He who
predicted that: once you saved the $3 for the doll you so desperately craved
you wouldn’t want her anymore And you didn’t! It was from Joseph Marlieb
you learned that wanting is a hungry uroboric beast shredding +eating voraciously
the mundane reality of every single thing you ever wanted
Except for: A box of Standard Poodle puppies in the basement The return of a
left breast The bird you caught after shaking salt on it’s tail Ditto the baby you
found in the bullrushes behind your house the only one you ever kept
We are here for what amounts to a few hours, a day at most.
(Tracy K. Smith Life On Mars 2011 Pulitzer Prize)