poeM oF thE (lasT) daY (oF julY, 2014)

Preface to a Twenty Volume Poem About My Daughter

All of this is shit

Debris

Flotsam

Jetsam

Shrapnel

All of this stuff.

Books, music, movies,

Furniture, clothes, food.

I would like to tip my house like a teapot

Empty it all out

All of the things I have spent my life collecting

--all of the things I have cherished

all of the things I have become--

And let the world drink it up

Until all that remained was

The empty teapot.

Then I'd  get a broom and

Sweep all of the dust that had collected on and under

All of those things

Into a corner

Pack it tightly with my bare hands

--I imagine it would be an impressive pile--

And then mix in some binding agent

Plaster of Paris or concrete or even paper mache

Whatever I could find at the nearest store

And mold that dust

Create a life-sized simulacrum of myself.

And when it had sufficiently dried

Let it stand in the curtainless window of my living room

Where during the day it would be an oddity to those passing

And at night it would be frightening and ominous to all,

Perhaps necessitating stuttered phone conversations

Or even the arrival of police cars,

Their blue and red lights churning the murky night air

Like a spoon in a sluggish pudding mix

Until I could feel the fear that curls at the bottom of the world,

Until I could hear that fear whimpering in the words of those

Who think they can speak to me.

Then I could begin to tell you about my daughter, Jacqueline.

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Brother K