of becoming

in the dream – first there is a re-enactment
of a kidnapping (students in a cage that
lines the side of the building), which i
partially participate in acting out but also
get impatient/lose interest and decide to leave
(at some point, there is the recognition
that i am older than everyone else and don’t
really need to be there)
and then i am in a car cruising a ride home
somewhere san diego-ish
riding across some kind of wetland
and pointing to the sun going down behind us saying
no, that is west, that is the way we should be headed
and then, cut to tuesday and i run-climbing
an impossible urban hill on the other side
of the border (something like san francisco’s
steepest times ten)
trying to escape and me yelling/freaking out so hard
i run my voice out of my body calling out over and over
again in distress THIS DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE
and tuesday responding dismissively
(kidnappings happen to everyone, frannie)
as if she thinks the thing that doesn’t make sense
is some entitled part of me saying something like
people get kidnapped, but not me
when really, what i’m trying to get across
is my confusion about how i thought the kidnapping performance
was just a performance, not the real deal
you awake, frank gina asks from her and shiz’s sleeping quarters
which happens to be just across the room from me
which happens to be a very small room
connected to the other very small room
where jerri and jelly slept on the futon
no i reply laughing
under the slanted cedar-like ceiling
and five minutes later
are you still awake gina asks
nope. sleeping i respond
shiz and i’s laughter collecting in the
small space around us
do you ever try to follow and individual drop/part/piece of water
i ask shiz about all the h20 molecules tossing themselves
over the edge of one of the
many cliffs whose mist
blesses us with its cool wet cleanse
how i cannot think about
the airborn moments of the
river’s currents
crashing/arc-ing into air
at the top of the falls
and all the tumble down
as an expression/embodiment
of joy
like emeralds i say of the
green mosses and ferns growing
out of wet rock
whose drips i can’t help but reach out
to receive
what are the chances i marvel
at the pathcrossing with krissy
on the trail
krissy whom i haven’t seen in years but
recently wrote to
krissy who doesn’t live in this nearby city
and neither do i
welcome to my house
play the music too loud
we don’t have to go out
welcome to my house

shiz and i singing along to the radio
in the back seat while jelly joins us
from up front
followed by chorusing along with
j.b.’s sorry
all the ways so many people i love
are built into this city for instance:
rolling back into town
along the newly constructed southwest waterfront skyline
remembering the name – mirabella – of the
building you were a laborer on
as it was in the process
of becoming
yesterday’s minnestrone soup
reheated and scooped into
three bowls on the red-white clothed table
steaming but not too hot as we
spoon it in


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