First Will and Testament
i look to history to explain & this is my first mistake
when i say history i mean the stone
half-buried by the roadside has witnessed
more tragedy than a filthy glass of a water. i look to the water
but all i see is dust. i look to the dust & all there is
is history. here’s a feather & well of blood
to write the labor movement across the fractal
back of infrastructure. here’s a father leaving home
to build railroads with his bare hands. write the laws
that claw the eyes from owls, that build a wall
between the river & the thirsty, that drag families
from one hell into the next. o this house of mine
was built by men & o i, a man sometimes, pass
through its acid chambers & leave out the backdoor
dust. when i say history i mean what lives in us,
i mean the faux gold chain around my neck,
the diseases passed from generation to generation
dating back to a time before christ, i mean any word
traced to its origin is a small child begging for water.
–previously published in Guernica
Missing Persons
it’s silly
missing anyone
who lives
or maybe
the opposite
you can only
miss the living
in a way
that ferries
marrow up
your spine
in one furious
red curtain
or no
the dead
they’re the ones
that open
the asphalt
for ghost-buses
to pour forth from
covered in
ink-black names
scrwld across
the windows
paint-thick names
names so dark
inside you can blink
or be blinded
or die
& be unable to tell
the difference
i miss everyone
all the time.
my room’s a coffin
with one glass wall
outside
there’s a parade
to welcome me
the horns
are so bright
& blood-drunk
you might think
something
was being born
the bullet tore
through my neighbor’s brain
like a nail
through a fig
i began
to love him
only once
the ambulances
sang into
the radio-singed stillness
the street after
was empty
as a body
when the soul
climbs out
of the hole
in its head
& becomes
a god
–previously published in Prairie Schooner
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From Bury It. Courtesy of Wesleyan University Press. Copyright © 2018 by sam sax.
