April 16, 2007: you can’t be a star in the sky without holy fire, Frank X. Gaspar
you can’t be a star in the sky without holy fire
Frank X. Gaspar
Why should I keep telling you what I love, and whom?
I am so dull and awkward, what difference would it make?
Yet I can’t shut up. I’m like that mockingbird up on the
bee-riddled pole at the corner of our easement. He is de-
mented, singing I must have sex, singing stay away from me.
Every once in a while he does a little hip-hop, he flaps his
wings, he does a break-down. When does he breathe? When
does he sleep? And beneath him are the morning-glories,
who could teach me a thing or two about the absolute rage to live,
and also the trumpet-vine, which is serene and alluring, but which
is all muscle and will underneath. And the wisteria! You
would stand naked in the snow-white shower of its blossoms, but it
would send a root down through you and plant a stake in your heart.
No, I can’t shut up, it’s not in my nature, just as beauty is not,
just as all those virtues I read about have gone missing. And I
don’t want everyone to gather round either. In another world
I am ready to lie down in solidarity with all the doomed blossoms
along the white fences. In another world I would stop grinding
my own bones. In another world I would convert all my failures
and consume them in a holy fire. But then there is that mindless
bird – he can’t shut up – and it’s one world only, and he knows it.
More like this:
Bright Wings, Frank X. Gaspar
A year ago: For the Sisters of the Hotel Dieu, A.M. Klein
Two years ago: Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem,
Bob Hicok
