BOOK OF FALSE BEGINNINGS
 
 
Someone was spared and so you were born
oblivious to the sound        of the metal triangle singing
oblivious to the landscapes      beneath your skin
 
blessed with many chances to chase down your intrigue
even if blinded you     even if the journey required
multiple submergences   in the fastest rivers
 
All the redwoods belonged to your blood then
or so you believed   You would torch the August forest    in an instant
 
But the occupation was real     and the picture brides
were real     and there was No north or south then  
said your grandmother   We all came from the same country
one blighted nation    under the master    of precious-items-burning
 
Bits of history get    lopped off each time the body
crosses another sea    So the weight of the canvas sack
when it arrives your way     is nothing

SEASONAL
 

September in the city—
sidewalks collecting a season of death, night coming on
with a stream of headlights
at 5pm. You're wandering the towers and shadows
with your long coat on, your blackest boots.
I'm writing letters to the coming snow
with a block of charcoal on the top floor
of an abandoned building: Dear bright white
falling wings, dear winter madness and the ice brigade,
dear children in red coats dotting
the slopes of Brooklyn:
 
a soldier from my hometown
died yesterday in a place where the news says
it's always summer. His best friend etched with blood-ink
his name across his chest,
along with the dates
and a picture of two guns pointing out like wings
to the beginning and end of human time.
Dear Rowan of the valley, dear city in September,
dear man I recall for the blackest boots:
look what I did for you.
Look what I'll do for you
till you wake from the desert of sleepless dreaming
and tell me to stop.

SHERRI REMEMBERS DOWNTOWN
 
 
Once I was girl.
My girlhood felt
like a fistful of rose stems.
The city lit our house
like a broken piano.
 
Sometimes I would wait
for Father to remember my name
when his eyes were pounding
but he couldn't remember my name
when his eyes were pounding
 
so I shut the curtain in my mind
and I slept with my eyes opened
and I dreamed. 
 
I had a camera.
I wore the camera
around my neck like a crucifix.
The camera made it so
I could make the world stand back
the way I made the dog stand back
by putting my hand out like this
and saying No.
 
My favorite picture
is of Daddy leaning
into the sofa and laughing
with Billy between his legs
and Billy laughing too.
 
Billy's laughing so much
it's like his shoes
are about to jump off
his boy-feet with laughter.
Here's the best day,
says the camera, forever. 

MERRY, MERRY
 
 
They were a traveling family, undone by hysterics and surprising
the circus scene with their bravery: her blonde wig sideways
like a sun-tanning ferret, his green beret burnt as if in a duel,
and the child's toy chicken growing a soul in its tiny chicken talon.
They had six horses for posterity's sake, and a bucket of glitter,
and boys to help them throw the wildest tents with the most cunning
of games. Through the peek-hole in the wood grain, you used to
watch them rehearse. They seemed happy in their world
of cloud-like calla lilies and friendly knives. They looked nothing
like your family: your towering father throwing his words around
like oil and lighting the holidays on fire.