Citizen to Citizen
Divested of my objecthood, still I think it tender —
How Candide scrawled sweet Cunégonde’s
Name in the trees. Small porcelain selves, what to do
With the particularly cohesive dust we are?
Sol fecit means the sun made it.
Made it like my sister, crawling down the laundry chute
In a bid to elude cowboys and Indians.
My sister who becomes the geologist
Watching our grandparents’
Ashes as they catch in rhododendrons
Growing thick at Sandburg’s Lake.
At higher elevations, a loose dog becomes
Two crows stalking through a winter-bare field.
A woman spreading her legs becomes she’s asking for it.
A lucky penny and a pregnancy test become two
Falling stars, ten years later. Oh culture
Teaching us to pornographify the slightest smile.
Oh culture teaching us to point at our own
Bruised bodies and laugh —
Descartes said to start with doubt
In this country we occupy, whatever its terms.
A dancer aimed like a thunderbolt floats gently down.
Citizen, the sun made it. Meaning, it escaped.about the author