Duality They seemed like jolly tunes I’d never heard my mother Sing their kind before – In fact, except for lullabies That ended years before when I was small She never sang The man behind the wheel Joined in, but from the back seat I could see his eyes were seeing stars Whenever he would glance at me, And at a stop sign or a light His knuckles would grow whiter Than my mother’s throat He let his right hand drift Across the armrest when he floored it On the open road and then My mom began another song And this went on and on Until we finally reached home We hung around outside the door, My mom and I, which gave me time To notice stuff like dirt beneath a fingernail Whenever he would strike a match And suck a cigarette I never can explain just how These memories come drifting up Maybe they’re like smoke Beginning furtively in flame From under desiccated leaf To steal a passage to my breath Or maybe it was gazing at the length Of you in nakedness, Your limbs a beacon in the night To welcome and to warn, even in sleep, That I recalled the dual nature of Most everything ________________________________________________________________________ Emanuel E. García, The Virtues of Calamity, One Hundred Poems, 2013 |