On form

form as a particularity of order is about becoming

each morning walking from the parking garage

to the hospital room I’d try to memorize objects

stop sign pavement concrete bench garden

I wanted the ground but every time I came up for air

the sky was november white      I kept a notebook

wrote things like the body is all sedimentation &

love means remembering that we are made of bones

it wasn’t about illness or accident or family or trauma

it was about form      (I watched youtube videos of dancers

to prepare for this poem      I combed my hair)

some days I’d hear a telephone ringing in a forest

& I’d want to walk in after it     trash bin sewer drain

visitor parking sign      (I watched youtube videos

of ice sheets embracing beneath water)      form

as an articulation of  body is about desire      it’s agentic

which means it needs to be loved      a metaphor is not

a diagnosis      I keep reminding myself that      on thanksgiving

my sister my mom & I got drunk in a friend’s house

she let us stay while she was away      we bought expensive

whiskey & made the fanciest drinks & in the morning

we drove to the hospital together      a metaphor is not

a figure of intimacy      regardless of the hollow space

inside me      two days sleeping in a waiting room

& a shower is meaningful      form as a catalog

of cloud-types is about comfort      about knowledge

community      self      we run the checklist

every time we enter the room      monitor iv bag ekg wires

endotracheal tube nasogastric tube ventilator catheter

compression stockings icp monitor      some days

I’d hear a telephone ringing in a forest & I’d look

for a line running through the trees      (I watched youtube

videos of augers drilling post holes around a garden)

vulnerability is a material condition      our insides

& outsides reversed      I folded myself  like a letter

& ran a thumb along my crease      I fielded phone calls

from friends      form as a binary of content is fallacious

& fallacy is how we get to sleep at night      when he started

hallucinating we had to confront the possibility

he wouldn’t stop      treeline telephone pole statue

I walked back to the parking garage      for a while we rented

an apartment near the hospital      for my mom mostly

I had to fly back to South Carolina during the week

ticket booth gate arm clearance bar      one Saturday

I needed a break & went into the city to the Guggenheim

they were having a show where an artist made

mis-sized objects      too large or too small

& hung them in the open center of the museum

squirrels shopping carts elevators a horse a piano

an old man dressed in gray a hot dog stand an umbrella

a zebra running a zebra laying down a pool table

an electric saw a car a doctor a ferret a tennis court

a school of fish a dead tree fallen by a storm

an airplane a human heart a rocket ship a necktie

after the accident I started sleeping naked

I’d never slept naked before      minivan handrail

parking meter      of course it was about form

it was too real to be about anything else

a metaphor is not a panacea      regardless that the sun

keeps rising each morning      form as repetition

is about exposure      about revision      suspension

apprehension analysis encounter disclosure

every day someone came in & drew more blood

form as a prediction of weather is about genre

skating across the surface of a pond      Christmas break

my sister went to see her wife’s family      my mom & I

visited the hospital each day      he had piercing

hallucinations      we’d stand at his bedside & sing

on Christmas day we stayed home      a metaphor

is not a mystery      not a mask      (I watched

youtube videos of forests to prepare for this poem

learned how to fold a fitted sheet)      when he went

into a coma we had to confront the possibility

he wouldn’t come out      (I watched youtube videos

of stones being cracked open      the revelation

of their interior worlds)      form is not a metaphor

a deer colliding with a car      a coffee cup

with a little squiggle handle      some days I’d hear

a telephone ringing in a forest & I’d stick

my fingers in my ears      it wasn’t about sorrow

or panic or anger or fear      it was about form mornings

I’d crave a barren landscape      a desert

an ice storm a dark field a rock quarry      not this

north Jersey strip mall      it wasn’t about recovery

or rehab or therapy or medicine      all winter

I waited for the snow      but it never snowed

it just got colder & colder      a metaphor is not

a diversion      regardless of all these

birds I cling to birds thrashing against the wind      thrashing

against the highway      against the light the garden

the horizon the pavement      I don’t want form

to order the chaos of the world      I just need

to make something      the doctor gave us a rundown

of every bone he’d broken      shrub lamppost

birdbath sedan      form as the promise of renewal

is about silence      I’d stand coma side

& recite the same guided meditation

he would say to me and my sister at night

the earth unclenches itself violently after winter

the birds unclench      I don’t want form to dream an intention

draws these streams together      I just want this waiting

to mean something      (I watched youtube videos

of men mowing pastures to prepare for this poem

I washed all the dishes from the sink)      form as a dialogue

is about discovery      the frost on the asphalt parking lot

shining in the sun      a metaphor is not a destination

a resolution a clearing a calm      some days I’d hear

a telephone ringing in a forest & then it would go silent

flagpole pillar awning  japanese maple dogwood holly

a traffic cone a vending machine a window

railing sidewalk ramp no crossing sign yield sign

do not enter sign emergency exit one way no parking

no waiting no stopping a stretch of  bollards a matchbook

lilies ambulance speed bump stairwell a cop car an oak tree

an empty flower pot motion sensor scaffold rope wire vine knot