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Shake the Dust
Anis Mojgani
This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school yard wimps.
This is for the childhood bullies that tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen.
This is for the milk crate ball players.
This is for the night time cereal eaters
and for the tired elderly, Walmart store front door greeters…
Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them;
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns;
for the men who have to hold three jobs, simply to hold up their children
for the night time schoolers and for the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly…
Shake the dust.
This is for the two year olds who cannot be understood because they speak half English and half God.
Shake the dust
For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy
for those gym class wallflowers and the 12th graders afraid of taking public showers
for the kid who is always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers
for the girl who loves somebody else
shake the dust
this is for the hard men who want love but know it will not come
for the ones who are forgotten
for the ones the amendments do not stand up for
for the ones who are told to speak up only when spoken to
and then are never spoken to
speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself
do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day
and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean
do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins
this is for the celibate pedophile who keeps struggling
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone
for the sweat that drips off of mick jaggers singing lips
and for the shaking skirt on tina turner’s shaking hips
for the heaven’s and for the hells through which tina has lived
this is for the tired and for the dreamers
for those families who will never be like the cleavers
with perfectly made dinners and sons like wally and the beaver
this is for the bigots, this is for the sexists this is for the killers
this is for the big house pen sentence cats becoming redeemers
and for the spring time that always shows up right after the winters
this is for you
make sure that by the time the fishermen returns you are gone
because just like the days, I burn at both ends
and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you
so shake the dust
and take me with you when you do
for none of this has fucking never been for me
all that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls is for you
so grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again
and jump on top and take it for a spin
and when you hop off, shake it again for this is yours
make my words worth it
make this not just another poem that I write
not just another poem like just another night
that sits heavy above us all
walk into it, breath it in. let it crash through the halls of your arms
like the millions of years of millions of poets coursing
like blood pumping and pushing making you live
shaking the dust
so when the world knocks at your front door
clutch the knob and open on up
running forward into its wide spread greeting arms
with your hands before you,
fingertips trembling
though they may be.
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