As Regards Those Who Should Inherit the Earth
Eileen R. Tabios
Gaston and Gaspar: boys whose names became relevant
when their bones became transparent—Yet again imagination
fails to alchemize air into protein—No redemption despite
immersing myself in a sea until, chin just topping salty water,
my head became attached to the entire planet— “Mom” and
“Dad” defined as a turquoise house cheered by kittens and
where a new resident learns meals will be finished and, still,
there will be food for the next—An ascetic’s illusion of ecstasy
transcends illusion due to its condition precedent: a suffering
so unmitigated it hollowed non-survivors from children to
earthworms—Smiling, a child stuffed doves into burlap bags—
A child paused to scratch with a missing finger—No one
notices the diminishing moon’s tiptoe across the night sky—
A child received a scar while an emerald mountain wept—
O lucidity of ancient mountains—The first human emerged
the way we all continue to be birthed: through violent ruptures—
White light, white roses, white silk, white lace and white pearls
adorned her wedding—but I remember only that this happy day
included the whisper, “Mama, glass is easily broken …” I stared
at a photograph of a baby with belly larger than head and later
argued with my son’s math teacher, “Two negatives do not equal
a positive!” A grandmother threw empty bottles at a toddler’s face—
Broken glass surfaced someone’s first conception of Beauty through
a sliver’s lovely wink, belying edges, sharpness, future cuts—
Algebra failing to succor when indigenous cell memory destabilizes
relationships—O aftermaths from dilemmas of belonging!
See clutter of broken objects manifesting affordable treasures
when one owns nothing, or owns only dilemmas over belonging—
O the seeking that began without knowing whether one will stink
or sing—Questions thickening as sun moves alongside moon
to preserve possibilities for synchronous precisions against skeptics
scoffing at commitments—What difference between desires
for father and fodder—Inevitable anthologies of glass—Pause
for the silvery thrum among treetops during perpetual autumns—
Clamp down on dreams of a carapace, then its splitting—It was not
a dream when a bolt of cream linen turned crimson along edges
touching the floor—Forget that coil that bowed with sinister purpose:
it is being lubricated now
for an intent to revise—
Eileen R. Tabios loves books and has released about 50 collections of poetry, fiction, essays, and experimental biographies from publishers in eight countries and cyberspace. Recent books include AMNESIA: SOMEBODY’S MEMOIR (Black Radish Books, 2016) and THE OPPOSITE OF CLAUSTROPHOBIA (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2017). Forthcoming poetry collections include MANHATTAN: An Archaeology (2017) and HIRAETH: Tercets From the Last Archipelago (2018). Inventor of the poetry form “hay(na)ku,” she has been translated into eight languages. She also has edited, co-edited or conceptualized 12 anthologies of poetry, fiction and essays as well as served as editor or guest editor for various literary journals. More information is available at eileenrtabios.com.
