Today's poem is by Stella Wong
When the still breathing watch the stillborn
After life
He was born in the year of the dog,
in the zodiac
that means faithful,and he is indeed full of faith.
Dogmatic, persistent
that we havesince the beginning, ridden
the same wavelength
and we can go on.One-note campaigner
and godly
lyre-player.When I was little it was my dream to ride
a big dog like a little horse.
That was beforeI was dragged around a room by my feet
with my face to the floor,
like Hector around Troy,like laps
around a pool
and well, I never wanted to experiencethat particular circle of hell
again.
He'll find the wavesby the Golden Gate
Bridge to be holy. Speaking
of which, gottem!What a misnomer. No gates, no gold,
just a bridge people find
it romantic to jump off ofto their deaths. No net
because the city finds it
unaesthetic.But this isn't about me.
It's not either at face
value, even about youand the waves that abuse these black rocks
that are unendingly moving, re-
ceding to theether from which they came. You think no one hears
the SEALs
during HellWeek, in an exercise in excising
weakness, they line up
down in the liminalspace between sand & wave,
purgatory, flagellated
arms linked to make a drawbridgeto drown or fend off
the naked lash's flog.
Orpheus, I too know the song.
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Copyright © 2022 Stella Wong All rights reserved
from Bennington Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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