The Bell
it began to rain
and did not stop
it stopped raining
then started again
the rain slid underneath the skin
that held the desert together
and the people, together
it rained for the span of each lifetime
of everyone who was living here,
or found themselves living here,
or unable to live any longer,
here,
but unable to leave
it began to rain six feet away
from where it was not raining
and did not stop
it smelled like slugs
on the bed I mean
dogs in the street
the average citizen
did not believe
because they could not see
nor could they feel
distress
and division
through which a perversely sober person might pass
like a sleepwalker through a curtain
+
then a bell rang
all night It rang all night
No one slept But listened
to the bell
framed
by empty urgency
No one could be saved
by a dream
Everyone plunged into
the least suggestive aether
The bell was murmuring was a seam
torn open
it was windy The fence flew back and forth
the bell held to the world
by a bookmark, blank,
banging against the skin
of its echoes
The bell stopped was regrouping
the soul over the neighborhood
crushed against
the fibers of a nest
bled
bled into the riverbed
flailed
and yet without supplication
slipped out of the skin
It blew against
Who is it
Who is at the gate
Who is at the door
Someone who is hungry
who wants me to be hungry
who brought with them death notifications
Who made it back
I cannot believe I made it back
I cannot believe that I went anywhere and made it back
I should not have made it back.
I feel like I should not have made it back
+
I put water on for tea
for them. I wait for the water
for them
whose face is it in the steam?
is no water, no steam
no tea
for them
no rest no sleep
I keep them awake
in the middle of the night is morning
for them, they keep asking
in the form of those closest, with voices
happy new year, is it a question?
is how are you doing? a question
to which I keep answering,
one minute despair,
the same minute delirium
***
Photograph of Brandon Shimoda courtesy of Brandon Shimoda.
