MADE FOR YOU AND ME 1: hive Being (Stanzas 2016—part 15)

Let's workshop this stanza sequence, which includes the doll of a Wampanoag child, hangings, banning geniuses merely because a "problematic" nobody likes them, new fathers, Arthurian lore, pain meds

made for you and me

thoughts turning hair grey

straight-razor tucked in the bra

what is left in the fridge after death

breasts that can be thrown over shoulder

furrows cross the grain of the deejay’s corduroys

workdays spent building with packets of sweetener

driving around all day getting pain prescriptions filled

those for whom the smaller the talk the better the buoy

rattrap testicles 

imitating drunkenness while drunk—
droop-eyed slurs of belligerence, say—
to show friends you are good to drive 

the relief of now being able to cut from your reading list,
in feel-good superciliousness, any “dead white male”
who uses—indeed, even just quotes—the word “nigger”

he has served as a Lancelot to a Guinevere (intimate lover, protector)
and as an Arthur to a Guinevere (status-grantor, fathering guide),
but now he is a Merlin (knight and king in one man of magic)

a boy pieces his mother together from traces: scent fading
on clothing; voice cut short on the answering machine 
(“don’t leave a messa—”); stories from those who knew her  

an audible crack as the tailbone fractures in childbirth 

not wanting to admit, even
to yourself, your hope only
to die in your sleep already

casual explanations 
more shaded than before—
unexpected side orders

those sentenced to be hung 
forced in the meantime 
to carry out hangings

as trans people become more accepted, expect
the number of female perpetrators of violent rape
to skyrocket (like female track-and-field records)

how romantic would it be if, in perhaps some spacefaring near future, 
indigenous living skills preserved in marginal pockets end up saving us 
from the implications of the rapaciousness that so shrank the indigenous!

if to have a title on a poem
is to treat the reader as dumb,
where should the cutting stop? 

a self-help book for how to open up to self-help books 

his blank face, as he bottles
the infant in his arms, speaks 
of submission to his fate 

bodily deformities
(goiters, humps, lop-shoulders)
taken as signs of evil character

waterways of yellow fury run
over bridges, but evacuees
first load their cars to the limit

we are on the cusp of a dark day where we will ban 
even a genius from millennia past (Aristotle, say)
merely because someone “problematic” likes him 

arms-out entries from high cliffs: water-bruising

painters who seem apprenticed on separate planets

the more predators the better our vision, typically

a mother’s bra—
booby traps
for the three year old 

avoiding each other’s eyes
to deny the threat
we have been denying

if you are smug enough to cut from your reading list
all masterpieces that include “problematic” words—
well, there was little hope they could have saved you 

stealing jewelry from your doddering grandma

asking if you were a good father in hope
that, even if unspeakables come to mind,
the child will give the decorous response

the wasted look from hunger helps 
for pretending to be a child 
when asylum decisions are made

shooting your own leg for a name

the eyes of a friend from whom
you have been long separated
reveal how bad you have slipped

mere fleshbots, what aggressions would be left
if we push aside those rooted in withdrawal:
withdrawal from drugs, food, water, oxygen?

“African Pride” brand hair relaxer

intercontinental ballistic missiles

the down syndrome head between your hands 
to force eye contact, you speak its full name
as if to connect with some captive inside

phlegm released 
into dusty dirt—
squid, silky flour 	

the due dad hopes for a boy so that no lust may awaken

the Wampanoag child
who lost her cornhusk doll
in what became Wal-Mart

passing things down being such a primal joy,
no wonder the insane lengths gone by parents
of those who accept only the host culture

not dying even though you were pulled
from the rest home to your daughter’s family 
only because you were supposed to die

This is a portion of an ongoing mosaic poem called Made for You and Me. This portion is from the first installment: hive Being (Stanzas 2016-2020). More specifically, it is from the 2016 portion of that five-part work.

Photos from some films I grew up with: (1) Excalibur imgflip.com/meme/73972160/Merlin-from-Excalibur and (2) First Knight nerdist.com/article/arthurian-legend-movies-myth-green-knight/