by JS Gilbert
I just want to be remembered.
To be saved.
Recognized, let alone known.
Ptolemy knew Cassiopeia
from a handful of stars; she
won’t be forgotten any time
soon. How much more
do you need to know
before you’ll see my face,
remember that I am human?
In 1980 the Yomiuri Giants
signed outfielder Gary Thomasson
for 1.2 million dollars
which he used to birth
a metaphor by sitting
on the bench, hitlessly waving
his bat and spinning,
they said, like
a Giant Human Fan.
And so ‘Thomasson’ came to
represent a contradictory remnant
within our built environment.
Once usefully functional,
now functionally useless,
yet conspicuously maintained.
A doorknob in a wall;
a bridge connecting two halves of air;
a spiral staircase, leading
I don’t know how much God
spent building me, and I could
probably figure the maintenance
from gas bills and groceries
and Netflix subscriptions but
I know the cost to save me
so I so often pray that I am
more than a doorless balcony and
that he would, once, tell me
where my stairs
in the beginning was the Word;
it has/will been/be, ever since/more.
some (words) are more
import-
signific-
relev-
ant than others, without
which the story is lost or
meaning less.
some ARE, some DO,
while some ARE/DO both while
never break-
ing
stride.
the others, though,
gild and embellish
are clutter and noise,
momentary-
ily
worthy of a roughshod draft;
unworthy, certain-
ly,
of eternity.
do they know if they
ARE or DO or do they
wait, anxious-
ly,
for the sharp, red pen?
