“How I err to be.” ~ D. Bonta
And it flares up again, hot jet of flame,
anger I thought I’d doused once and for good—
when was the last time? Decades I’ve spent
just trying to get my due, walk in the world
able to look any other clearly in the eye,
because I can: only to encounter the side-
swipe, blind side, shift or sleight of hand
that, confronted, slides around a little more
before settling into semblance of grudging
apology, if one might call it that— Oh pardon
the oversight; it wasn’t deliberate. Just a joke,
can’t you take a joke? So lame, so old. It used to be
I was afraid to speak, bite back, match any injured
wolf, howl for howl, under the moon’s marbled white
aloofness: o implacable, o ravenous appetite
that orders us to dance before crushing our bones.
From these bluffs, this margin slivered with pine,
it looks so beautiful: cities gleam like a lit-up
Atlantis, lost and found empires of crumbling gold—
Let me remind you we arrived a long time ago. We’re here,
each bearing a satchel of broken but luminous things.
In response to Via Negativa: The Decider and thus: consubstantiation.