If You Would Understand What Happened on the Road to Damascus
By Zach Czaia
Open your mouth. Your tongue,
put it out. Let it wait.
Let it wait till it is
dry and cool. Let it wait
past the point, long past it,
when you think, here I am,
a grown man standing here
like a child. Then, your hands,
hold them out, too. Open
them, and let them wait, too.
If you would understand,
want to know what I knew,
you would wait, hold yourself
for as long as you can
in this way, till the voice
speaks. And you know the man,
though you cannot yet place
from where. You know that voice.
And only now open
your eyes. And now the choice
is made, though now you see him,
now you are on the ground...
Why? Why? He asks Why? All
why, it is the only sound
you can hear. Take it in.
You know you must answer
but you don't know how to.
Your mouth is a dancer
without music, without
rhythm, without a clue
of how to move. You try—
the words die within you.
He is no guide. He's gone
and you are left with why?
It echoes in the dark.
It settles down to die,
lt penetrates your bones—
you feel it in the thud—
why beat why beat why beat why beat
in the heart, in the blood.
He lives and you know it,
lives like birds or trees,
lives like branches growing,
is shade, is cool—is free.
Copyright Credit: Zach Czaia, "If You Would Understand What Happened on the Road to Damascus" from Knucklehead. Copyright © 2021 by Zach Czaia. Reprinted by permission of Nodin Books.
Source: Knucklehead (Nodin Books, 2021)