1
You can take
your Catholic education from an all-providing God.
Your electrified Middle Ages in a ritzy northern neighborhood.
Your special library of gadgets and disguises.
Your newspapers distilling blood,
voluptuous fear and blood…
You can take all of this.
Your politicians smiling on the bus.
Your models and your prophets on TV.
Your bargain gas and your demands:
When will you have a real career?
When will you say I do?
When will you get that brand-new car?
What kind of paycheck will you make?
You can take all of this,
as I wait for the world to start.
5
At this meridian hour,
between the museum and the university,
a ship will leave the port of me,
and bear me
to a country that accepts
my blank passport,
my invisible flag,
my future history.
13
I’ll see you in the kitchen, singing songs,
feeding the dog out of your hand,
and laughing as you flip the meat.
I’ll see you kiss the small palms of your son,
and the lift the spoon to meet his mouth,
then wipe it on your dress.
I’ll see you wake up from your nap
and rise with all the brightness of your suns
whenever I remember you.