somewhere i can see

the gaping mouth of the dead possum
with its guts splayed out
around its body and lots of
flies swarming around the eyes, and i
can’t help but quickly look away as soon as i see it,
and then look back, this time for longer
staring at the mouth and tongue
as i pedal around the guts and feet
and curled up

sitting in my room staring at the computer screen when i notice that the sunlight is fading outside and i propel myself down the stairs and out
the door to get to somewhere i can see the moon

watching the glowing orb of light grow
behind the tree line,
feeling the coolness of the night land
on polyester sweater
and thick denim

lying on my back (on the ground) (in the garden) facing the sky
darkening (with the night),
and lightening, with the moon,
as i wait for it to
seeing wisps of cloud
cirrus (named in latin for a strand, curl, lock, of hair)
wondering how almosts stop being almosts. like in the case, of ,
how does an almost become a

feeling sure how there is something in the knowing that soon it will be empty again

heard felt thud

James Baldwin is speaking too fast for me to commit
all of his beautiful words, in the order that he says them, to memory
and I can’t press rewind because I’m in a movie theater,
on a monday.
and the ladies sitting behind me gasp often and say how true at least 5 times.

responsibility, witness, responsible, us, black, white, America, grow, if, you are, we are, I am, witness.

holding tight onto the steering wheel I am
shouting for a possum whose body I heard felt
thud as it jammed into my
front right wheel and car
underside I don’t even know which part of what and then it was over
and now there is the urge to start over maybe
retrace the dark shadows and find the limping legs or at least some
blood but it is past my bed time, I haven’t eaten dinner, and I am still driving forward shouting for two of us.