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Photo by: John Doucette
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Faith
Picture a city
and the survivors: from their
windows, some scream. Others
walk the aftermath: blood
and still more blood coming
from the mouth of a girl.
This is the same movie
playing all over
the world: starring everybody
who ends up where the action
is: lights, cameras, close-ups--that
used to be somebody's leg.
Let's stop talking
about God. Try to shut-up
about heaven: some of our friends
who should be alive are no longer alive.
Moment by moment death moves
and memory doesn't remember,
not for long: even today--even
having said
this, even knowing that
someone is stealing
our lives--I still
had lunch.
Tell the truth. If you can.
Does it matter who they were,
the bodies in the rubble: could it matter
and the survivors: from their
windows, some scream. Others
walk the aftermath: blood
and still more blood coming
from the mouth of a girl.
This is the same movie
playing all over
the world: starring everybody
who ends up where the action
is: lights, cameras, close-ups--that
used to be somebody's leg.
Let's stop talking
about God. Try to shut-up
about heaven: some of our friends
who should be alive are no longer alive.
Moment by moment death moves
and memory doesn't remember,
not for long: even today--even
having said
this, even knowing that
someone is stealing
our lives--I still
had lunch.
Tell the truth. If you can.
Does it matter who they were,
the bodies in the rubble: could it matter
that the girl was conceived by two people
buried in each other's arms, believing
completely in the world between them?
The commanders are ready. The gunners
go everywhere. Almost all of them
believe in God. But somebody should
hold a note for the Earth,
a few words for whatever being
human could mean
beneath the forgotten sky:
some day one night,
when the city lights go out for good,
you won't believe how many stars
buried in each other's arms, believing
completely in the world between them?
The commanders are ready. The gunners
go everywhere. Almost all of them
believe in God. But somebody should
hold a note for the Earth,
a few words for whatever being
human could mean
beneath the forgotten sky:
some day one night,
when the city lights go out for good,
you won't believe how many stars
-Tim Seibles
Used by permission.
From Fast Animal (Etruscan Press 2011)
Tim Seibles is the author of several books of poems including Hurdy-Gurdy, Hammerlock, Buffalo Head Solos, and, most recently, Fast Animal.
He is Professor of English at Old Dominion University and teaches in
the Muse Writers Workshop, the University of Southern Maine's Stonecoast
MFA in Writing Program, and Cave Canem. He has received fellowships
from both the Provincetown Fine Arts Center and The National Endowment
for the Arts. He also won the Open Voice Award from the 63rd Street Y in
New York City.
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