And
Give us water and food to pursue our tasks.
Help us not become wards of the state,
impoverished, homeless, destitute, crushed
under the heel, buried in systems, imprisoned,
dead, hospitalized. We die die die. Our dogs
will not walk themselves after we go. Our bodies
will not burn themselves after we go. Our apartments
will not pack themselves after we die. Instead,
bright ribbons of work, tangled in our bodies,
will be vomited out and indeed bright ribbons
will be vomited out. In the meantime,
the light’s eyelashes open and close.
And in the meantime, work and reprieve.
Lie down; don’t lie; lie flat; lie still. See these
books bound in itching white leather? They are
your life. And each feathery page, lifted by hot wind.
O summer air, o gardens, o seasons ô châteaux.
The glaring day, it binds, o occurrence, o soil o soul.
Copyright Credit: Robert Fernandez, "And." Copyright © 2015 by Robert Fernandez. Used by permission of the author for PoetryNow, a partnership between the Poetry Foundation and the WFMT Radio Network.
Source: PoetryNow (PoetryNow, 2015)