I know how it felt for you
to become God:
you woke up
at dawn on
a Saturday
with a bruised eye
your nose was raw inside
and in pain, feeling
like it would pour blood
the orange juice
from the dark gray
kitchen light opened
up your throat
and when the blood came
it moistened your head
your reading was slowed
in bed by gnawing
in your belly
you got dressed and
walked to the bank
noticing how an ice
skater is your neighbor:
his car parked right across
the river the fog
was a cloud that came
not from the sky but
the river, rising up
to the height of buildings
you got an egg
sandwich from Tim’s Little
Big Store stood in line behind
the old men buying
their tobacco
got out and ate it
by the dam, bleeding
brown like a cut
open belly, round water,
a ripe drum
the seagulls became your
friend again on the
day when you became
god, they waited for
you to give them something
to eat by the red
dripping berries
the Island resting above
the dam, footed by breaths
of fog berries
on the day when
you became God,
you felt so high
and calm, permanent
sitting on the porch
drinking coffee
listening to the
coughing of the neighbors
on the other side
of the wall
watching old women
peek out from their
windows across the
seeing Frenchmen
in small cars wearing
scarves and hats
cascading by in
music boxes, smoking
on the day when
you became god
you rolled cigarettes
under lamplight,
listening to Roberta Flack
sing Leonard Cohen:
“I love you in the
morning, your kisses
deep and warm”
you laughed in the
shower that came
hot as a sauna
your bruised eye
was the meditative one
your healed throat
was the one that
could speak plain now
feel sorry for unhappy
voices, it could be
better if they let
you in
you listen to Leonard
Cohen on the record
player plead, “please
don’t pass me by”
and the rain began
seriousness, seeming to
bleed backwards from
moss you watched
grow on the neighbor’s
the rain a silver miracle
a gentle November
you saw how the light
shimmered from the roof tops
you weren’t afraid of
hunger or solitude
or lack of transportation
you noticed a light
turquoise blue house far
behind the trees
and how it looks like
a boat
we are living in our
boats going off
or locked to the day
your bruised eye
is gooey and the
one that sees
with love and empathy
and picks up the guitar
remembering the
magnificence of the
and high notes
and the crows
pecking through newly
upturned soil
rain washed