A Year in the New Life

It was winter. The opposite of burning,

which is also burning.

My banner displayed clock parts,

a cup of wine, a worm eating its opposite head.

My motto was Try to Be Responsible,

but every new moon was a sacrificial moon.

Thirteen paving slabs were flipped into the river.

The extra light of spring threw our business

into relief. My banner displayed a sunburst,

a bloodied hand dropping a knife, and

in the other hand an avocado withholding

its stone. War would soon come but not

for us, and this became our motto, Not for Us.

Then a crime in our community led to anger.

Gossip gathered the truth into a ball;

paperwork was spoiled; a man was removed

from the yellow light of the barn.

We heard his sobs coming from the orchard,

and these were a source of comfort.

Summer roused lanterns of dust under doorways,

though a vinegar taste kept the air difficult.

Antifa angels bathed their eyes in milk,

as horses refused riders. The timid among us

signed petitions swearing that when the time came

we would know it by the rocks in our hands.

I made a banner for the protests to come

depicting the planting of milk teeth,

the burning of a noose, a stadium left empty.

Autumn was just my luck. I could not stomach

the broth I boiled, and slept badly.

Arguments I won in my head lost direction

when formed out loud. The riots continued

but quietly now, indoors.

It was a time for manifestos, though the wrongs

were too many for anything less than a lake.

Friends kept the counsel of friends.

In the yellow light of the barn we tried to write

sentences each other would like, or not desire

to alter. Together we designed a quilt depicting

the wolf taking scent, water moving quickly,

the sign of the errant cloud and alphabet,

a baby resisting sleep, a worm eating

its opposite head, only this time surrounded

by snow, which hasn’t stopped falling since

Thursday, the name we gave to our child.