Sunday, April 14, 2013
To the Future
To the Future (response to the Futurists) What I mean when I say anything Is that, in a desert, you need Water and a compass. To forget this Is to become suicidal. When I look at you, I see your skin With its constellation of moles And the train-wreck galaxy of eczema And this is at least part of what defines you As a “person.” I’m sorry. Without your border Of skin, you would not be a subject But a skinless corpse. I apologize again Because I am no postmodern woman— I have been told to be otherwise is to be the victim Of a historical mistake. I have been fooled by this body And its insistences, its constant nagging And miracles. What I mean when I say anything Is that I have my ration of truth, or naivete Or passeism, and I have more, even More than I need. And I am in a city That is starving for lack of money And not of food—and here— Have some— What I mean when I say anything Is that I mean. In this particular desert, To forget suicide, to embrace an apologetic skin, Embarrassingly old-fashioned, The miracle of femininity and sentiment Nothing like a car riding on grapeshot. Just a hundred suns of chemical joy Pumping through our softly-fortified Animal cells, this life, this glory.