Academy of American Poets Prize, 2017

 

 

as in the mountain lion sawing our yard

in quarters, was God agitating your skin,

as in from the deck you stood to listen,

as in hearing breakfast is not served, and 

your sternum is blooming with hunger 

into a rare lump, as in you backed 

into bed, which said God sees you 

and he raises you leukemia by Christmas

as in Mom will remember chopping onions,

then heaving your body from the toilet,

as in she thought you died on the toilet,

as in she thought what could she do

with your toothbrush, your bedding, 

with herself, as in you’re not allowed 

to go. Noah recalls nothing but a pan 

dropping, and the rattling echo in his ears

getoutgetout of his head, as in get out 

of his room, then Adam says he was 

labeled a traitor long before you died, 

as in there’s an entire house with holes 

punched into walls, as in he’ll smoke 

cigarettes for his brothers and his mother, 

for their acceptance, as in it’ll take a life.

But there’s a sister who casts spells,

as in Jess could peel back the covers 

over your skin and shake them clean 

until you are all pristine and smiling

with teeth, as in you can see in the mirror 

again, as in yourself, as in the mountain 

lion who delivers, not the man who accepts,

the news of death, and all the boys and all 

the king’s horses couldn’t bring Jenny 

to believe in God again, as in we watched

Tash take a leave of absence from the living 

room, and we called her name and called

her a loner, and she is yet to wave back, 

as in she’s on to something, in riding 

a Ferris wheel you built for her in her mind.

As in I’ve never left Fort Snelling,

as in I’m folding a map in my hand, 

and I trace the snowmelt from the lines 

striking ice to find you as you rest 

in the traffic of all these other soldiers,

as I call for you, as in I’m thirty, I am 

twenty-two, as I am still nine, waiting 

in line to see you tucked into your casket, 

I am stretching on tippy toes, 

as in God sees me getting tired.