Disco Balls Swinging by Carolyn Srygley-Moore

i’ve never i guess i suppose
never felt like this before: ducking as bomb descends, slow, red shaft of gnats & shadow, upon what i’ve known as real, valid. that ball swings upon my dwelling, a disco ball sparkling upon my yellow dwelling. when i was 22 & ill, i felt terminal. when i was 50 & my hound fell sick, my Netherlands friend said “he is terminal, Carolyn.” & he was. i worked with those living with AIDS, when it was “struck”, struck as by thunder: i heard Ray, as he ran to the car stopped, ran, pounded on the windows eyes kaleidoscopic we drove spinning away. away from lights, stopped; from the lightning of a grown man, pounding for the reason, soon taped into paper pull-up diapers. i write of such things because we must: own the sirens, sing for the sirens, rather than be possessed by them. ruins descend. offended by a movie set in Austria 1942, flags long surfeited, & after the daily bombs fell a young boy, in his black ankle boots, climbed the still smoking hushed rubble of his neighborhood. i thought it a parable of numbing & perhaps perhaps it was; yet isn’t that, wedged bluefish gutted, how we live past these personal hells, these quaint plum-red Armageddons, how we make it, humming, alive.
Advertisements

One thought on “Disco Balls Swinging by Carolyn Srygley-Moore

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s