I'm going to read you this poem because I never read it.
I somehow never read this poem.
And it's because it's a strange poem.
That's why I never read it.
And I tend to read my more political poems
because I'm a political animal and I
resist backing down from that.
And I resist stupid reviews that de-politicize my work.
And, there I said it, I'm glad I said it.
But this poem is ostensibly about the earthquake,
but not at all about the earthquake in San Francisco.
Lucky me, I was there.
I'm always I'm always at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Aftermath, San Francisco October 17th, 1989.
At night, there are rumblings, faint then loud.
The sound then recedes like a wave.
Mumblings of an earth settling down again.
Like first time lovers tangled in twisted sheets
caught working to free themselves
after the seconds long climax.
Quick and angry as it was, they have
fallen in each other's paths, disturb each other's rest,
bump and bruise, smother each other's dreams.
Cursing the darkness lost in the aftermath,
both of them asking why they were caught unprepared
for this endless night, not even a candle to give them light.
Their nervous breathing, almost words.
This is not love, this act we have committed.
How could we have allowed our bodies
to rage against each other.
That anger, hidden for years had been
kept locked until it was let loose in their sex.
And yet, they had always known it was knocking,
waiting to be torn open.
The quieting earth is turning uncomfortable
in its new position.
Tired insomniac uttering moans of sorrow and repentance,
begging to return to the old dispensation.
But that which has been loosed cannot be bound again and must
remain unloosed.
Once the apple is bitten, it has been bitten.
We know this story have memorized the ending by hearts.
Once stripped, we are exposed ashamed.
And we are condemned to carry what
is left of ourselves into exile, no longer allowed
to step on stable grounds.
An easy sleep after this will not come.
Sleep after this will resemble the labor of the day.
Night will no longer be still.
Will grown, will grunt, will sway.