You hadn’t to catch them to hear your manners,
for me to lean in a family from Hunter Hills.

I faced that everything is as it was.
As old as they came and I was young,
as old as they were and I was coming.
When they came they gave me my essential work.
When I came, and the word is,
adding my mother over my own writ marker.
Love you were the day long, where the hours are.

It is impossible to describe all of you as you deserve.
These were the streets that crowded Avignon.
And when I sit to rewrite the closeness of your watch face,
nearly all of you will make it to me.

It is impossible to describe all of you as you deserve, and the magnificence of you all, the triumph forward.

I hear it in the halls of modern banks,
in four corners, three squares. I hear it into hard water.
I hear it, and it writes, not into cultivated land, nor as drink for men, nor for cattle,
but with the beasts of the Earth, with hunger and with death.

I put my nose down, I saw what I couldn’t see,
and did myself.



One response to “Mississippum

  1. Pingback: Book 1 - Table of Contents « New American Writing

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