Jared Nathan, You Motherfucker.
This is called "Up to Somewhere."
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someone calls
to tell me about the funeral.
they tell me
his mom asked for me.
alex, she said.
just that one idea
of my name
in the hollow of her mouth
in the middle of all that
triggers a coldness
that erupts in the middle of my chest
like a sharb stab of fever.
the chill sweats itself out
and releases itself into the water vapor
and i am warm enough again.
i finish the conversation
calmly, politely, articulately
and the moment i clap my phone shut
my tears start to cry themselves
without having asked me for permission.
i grab a cigarette
to smoke with jared’s lips
and go outside.
the sky is dressed for the occasion
in its wide grey shawl
and the slightest drizzle
drums the surface of the pool.
the thunder becomes
a growl of mourning.
i cry some more.
my knees give up and abandon me
so that my torso collapses to the floor
into a sort of crouch.
i watch the smoke rise
from my burning cigarette
up to somewhere.
there are no names for these things
these great things
that surround and swallow us
they spread wider and deeper
always, wider and deeper
to places our meager words
are too frightened to follow.
i still don’t know why i’m crying.
my cigarette is burning itself out.
i’m still watching the smoke
turn in and out and up
twist around itself and rise
up, up to jared maybe
maybe not
maybe swirling up to nowhere
and that’s okay, too
that’s perfect, too
and the cigarette burns itself to the filter
and i’m watching as it
stops releasing its grey breath
and i watch as the last string of cigarette smoke
floats above my head
and leaves me here
now on my knees
empty of tears
of words
of all that is unimportant.
oh my god, i think,
i’ve written it one hundred times
in one hundred poems,
but i’ll write it again
and speak it again
until i myself understand it:
the sobbing, the smoke, the sad sky.
all this sadness is so
incredibly
beautiful.
----------------------------------
someone calls
to tell me about the funeral.
they tell me
his mom asked for me.
alex, she said.
just that one idea
of my name
in the hollow of her mouth
in the middle of all that
triggers a coldness
that erupts in the middle of my chest
like a sharb stab of fever.
the chill sweats itself out
and releases itself into the water vapor
and i am warm enough again.
i finish the conversation
calmly, politely, articulately
and the moment i clap my phone shut
my tears start to cry themselves
without having asked me for permission.
i grab a cigarette
to smoke with jared’s lips
and go outside.
the sky is dressed for the occasion
in its wide grey shawl
and the slightest drizzle
drums the surface of the pool.
the thunder becomes
a growl of mourning.
i cry some more.
my knees give up and abandon me
so that my torso collapses to the floor
into a sort of crouch.
i watch the smoke rise
from my burning cigarette
up to somewhere.
there are no names for these things
these great things
that surround and swallow us
they spread wider and deeper
always, wider and deeper
to places our meager words
are too frightened to follow.
i still don’t know why i’m crying.
my cigarette is burning itself out.
i’m still watching the smoke
turn in and out and up
twist around itself and rise
up, up to jared maybe
maybe not
maybe swirling up to nowhere
and that’s okay, too
that’s perfect, too
and the cigarette burns itself to the filter
and i’m watching as it
stops releasing its grey breath
and i watch as the last string of cigarette smoke
floats above my head
and leaves me here
now on my knees
empty of tears
of words
of all that is unimportant.
oh my god, i think,
i’ve written it one hundred times
in one hundred poems,
but i’ll write it again
and speak it again
until i myself understand it:
the sobbing, the smoke, the sad sky.
all this sadness is so
incredibly
beautiful.