Calling the White Donkey

I called the white donkey that hurt my left shoulder

the last time it appeared, ramming me

with its ivory head, cracking my back

to relieve me of worry and hope.

I called the white donkey,

surprised at the sound of my voice.

Scared, I wondered if the white head

would give me its donkey brain,

snowy matter dripping into my ears

like the horse of the first man who fell off,

the donkey teaching me about desire

and the moan, that white hair on the back

of my head that warns me.

I called the donkey.

It came slowly toward me,

huge ears shaking with fury,

its breath turning the air white

as it bit into the white apple

of my throat.

I faced the donkey, watched

its gait become a shuffle of possession,

shaking its head as it stopped to

root its dirty hoofs in the ground.

I stepped back and clicked my fingers,

but it would not come closer, its snort

commanding I listen as it farted.

I walked away and did not know it was

I who yearned for labor of the ass

because the animal I summoned

couldn’t remove the white scar from

my heart, a blind life I lived for good.

Source: Consideration of the Guitar: New and Selected Poems (BOA Editions Ltd., 2005)