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The things we live to tell about
by Natalie JonesTwo buildings fall from the sky
slowly, like watching a divorce
carve new clarity out of an old mess,
the whole clang and shatter muted
by the sound of clouds. I balance
my foot on the edge of a sofa,
my eyes on a TV screen,
your head in my hand.
We are so far from New York
but we are crying.
I wanted to say your sadness
is heavier than the weight of the world.
So heavy, in fact, you cannot even feel
your arms carry it, hands gone numb.
The first time I heard of my great grand-
father dousing himself in gasoline
and lighting a match just to feel himself
go up in smoke I started to understand
something about sadness. Men fall from
the sky somewhere across the country
each one a tear drop. Weather swirls into cyclone,
bodies fly like twigs, or, always,
single lines of blood trickle down a white wrist.
We live to tell these things.
I see it everywhere.
This could be the equation for nothing.
01/06/2006 Posted on 01/07/2006
Copyright © 2010 Natalie Jones
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