What thoughts I have of you tonight,
for I walked down the side streets under the trees
With a headache self conscious looking at the full moon.
Dreaming of your enumerations!
I saw you, Walt Whitman! childish old man walking among the aisles.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman?
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
We will both be lonely
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love, past blue automobiles,
home to our silent cottage?
Are you my Angel?
Write poems for me!
I can’t see why
You want to talk to me
When your vision of America
Is crystalline an clean
Sometimes I want a white bread life
Just something ignorant and plain
But from the walls of Michelangelo
I’m dangling again
I don’t ever want to forget
What it was like
In that cement jungle
It devoured all that entered
Spitting out the remnants
Of lost dreams and broken things
And I think it devoured us, too
Now I know
Why they told us not to stay
The wails and laughter
Awoke something inside
I could tell you felt it too
Creeping out of the dirt floor
It was a sadness
A cry that could be heard above the wails
And could not be silenced by the dirt
We left, broken
Leaving the children
But taking the dirt and the rain
And the knowledge that I could survive
A shattered heart, a broken body, death, loss, grief, failure,
If I could poses
Of that courage
Belonging to the 6 year old girl
With the black hair and
Wise brown eyes
Who played with my bracelets and braided my hair
Singing, laughing, crying, dying
In that concrete beast of an orphanage
Don’t you think it’s better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?