Chavisa Woods

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Green Zircon

poverty’s fertile plant
roots at the base
of the trimmed pond willow
whose weep is not permitted
to touch ground now
because nearby trailer park children liked to hide there and shout
obscenities at the moment golfer’s swung
pricey sticks against dented orbs,

over the year since I last saw you
you have turned sixteen and
your expression has fallen lower than the shadowed sand trap and
your eyes seem to be digging themselves
deeper instead of out,

each day our family places
two pills before you
sun pill star pill, to burry your mooncalves,
smooth the loose dirt over your wailing bastard,
you willingly swallow
the means of your constraint,
I find it stunning
how your throat
guides its oppression bobbing past Adam’s apple
and the tiny ticking noise your tongue makes against ice water
as our stern and beloved grandmother watches barely nodding
as your sunken eyes meet mine in the silent beg
of a prisoner knowing someone else in the room knows
they are innocent

innocence’s tears wet the blades
as we walk in medicated silence
of midnight over the grounds of the empty golf course

you lead me to the castrated weeping
pond willow and silently snatch
up a toad with the quick
snatch of a boy
familiar with nature’s stealth

I flinch and you assure me
you are done killing things
that are not yourself, at least
for now,

you apologize for dead rabbits, birds
thousands of dismembered insects
emerald mush like
this toad’s brilliant skin flashing under the assault of your light;
its glassy eyes moving in ripples, plasmic spheres
deciphering nothing of our humanity

 it seems to be pointing to something
very near us that I will never perceive.

you hold it like a pistol pointing to
apologies for dead rabbits
and I realize you are still young enough to be honest,
to inspect the cargo of my silence,
you apologize for insects, but I recall
the molesting of the dog and
your pregnant mother pushed down the stairs, most vividly

I do not mention or seek recourse for these childhood atrocities
but wish to apologize to you, and know
forgiveness will never be found,
not even possibly snatched from the imperceptible shadows

we are unforgivably amerikan
violence is seeping from you
wetting your stiffened skin
and rippling your eyes to unconscionable revenge
deciphering everything of humanity

I touch its gooey head
before it is released into the water
sending a small splash unsettling the surface,
never reaching
the water’s edge

where poverties’ fertile plant
roots at the base of the trimmed
pond willow.

whose weep is not permitted?




(Published in  Fresh Fruit Festival Anthology, 2011)

























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