A Box for Yokozuna
From the dark rises Yokozuna —
sumo king with a belly full of thunder,
a hunger for pushing men off
their feet into the earth. His eyes
grow wide at the thought of a coffin,
that luxurious interior, that grim
receptacle for hair and bone.
It’s that push a man’s body makes
against other men that defines how strong
the flesh can be. It’s that push against
Yokozuna that marks the limits
of a man’s body. Death looks smaller
when viewed from a distance, more
insidious from the inside of a box.
Yokozuna looks bigger as he pushes
a man down, as he mashes a skeleton
beneath his buttocks. It’s that thump
thump against ribs that reminds
a man of dark spaces that push
in on him when he is alone.
Yokozuna claps his hands, purifies
the ground with a stomp, the air
with a handful of salt for dead men
suffering in a world without sleep.
Somewhere there is a bed for each of us,
a box that will not open no matter
how hard a man might push.about the author