WEBVTT

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I'd like to begin with a
story poem, an old poem.

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I grew up where there
were palm trees, also.

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And it's nice to see them again.

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One day, in the palm
tree across the street,

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I saw a roof rat, which
is like a pack rat.

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It collects things such as glass
and builds a nest in a tree.

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And it runs along telephone
cables to get to its tree.

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One day, the tree was on
fire and the fire department

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was putting out the tree.

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This is my version of
what caused the fire.

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"Roof Rat."

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"When the palm was
green and innocent,

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she kept you, much
evicted tenant,

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escapee from poisoned gardens.

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You came packing gifts like
your own Santa Claus, hidden

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like a louse in her thick wig.

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You set up laboratory,
home, and pyre,

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building a shelter that would
commit your life like a wedding

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ring.

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The palm's long fingers could
not pry into that privacy.

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Not even the sky
could bully you.

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One day, with the
relish of an antiquary,

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you carried to your nest a
shard of glass, revolving it

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like a flower arrangement to
find the best angle, letting

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the light crawl,
bare-rested, and unshoed

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across its little furnace.

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I watched you come and go,
soloing along the telephone

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cables, digging your
nails into the shredding

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shingles of the palm trunk,
flicking your whiskers

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against its whiskers.

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You built as one possessed,
belonging to no union.

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And though I lived
across the street,

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you would have none of me, rat
aristocrat, penthouse Pete.

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Then one day, the sun bore
a small twin of itself

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on the other side of the glass.

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The palm became a blonde,
and then a torch of liberty.

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I heard your crackling laughter
at the fire trucks red rescue,

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its hoses sniping at your
homemade star, the nova

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of your rodents heaven.

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Your tree landlady
dumb with illumination.

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You burned like God in
the wilderness bush.

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We stood, a mass of
Moses's, lifting our feet

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on the hot street.

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And you burned, untouchable
in the locked house of fire,

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and the light in
our eyes was you."

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