WEBVTT

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This is the final poem.

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It's the title poem from the
book Pittsburgh's doing now.

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I wrote this a few years ago.

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I remember I had it in
a folder like for a year

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before I ever got really
interested in what

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was the first draft and
then held on to it since.

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Ruby for Grief.

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I tend to sit here very alone.

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Last night I asked
a stranger if he

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wanted a rubber slapped
across his face.

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This morning brought
more or less more.

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I was whistling when
I ran into someone

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I hadn't seen for
a while, someone

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I would like to think
of as a brief friend,

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and it seemed all the better
because I was whistling.

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I'm fond of the bridges
the sea makes in my mind,

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although far away.

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Even with a shallow life before
this one or a life after,

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I know my life is short.

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Each is.

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The sea bridges such familiar
territory the life makes.

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The sea measures such mending
I make and gives it colors.

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Ruby for grief,
yellow for choice,

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flint green for staying awake.

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One reason I live
alone is the nature

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of the strangers who appear
in my dreams now and then.

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I can make nothing of their
life until they've made mine.

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I find their memories in
water, winter birds dipping

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their heads at winter
windows, and in the closest

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facts of walking the streets.

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The stranger last
night angered me

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as he refused memory,
distorting mine and his.

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He walked away under a few
red lights until I shouted.

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Little generosity
unless he gets away.

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I used to fly in my sleep.

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The sea often appeared,
but these aspects of images

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have rather faded over time.

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I wish they'd come back.

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Water appears in
simple settings.

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Basins, tubs, glasses,
often it seems

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I'm thirsty in the dream just
when a winter bird appears.

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The colors the sea has
given me are constant.

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There's a kind of
ruby girl who returns

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my face about once a month.

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Maybe her name is Ruby.

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My sister often turns
up and is as close to me

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there as I want to think some
future omen will be close to me

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someday.

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She is usually making
choices for me,

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defending me, or walking from
one quiet hut to another.

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My part in these dreams is to
appear with a yellow stick,

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having made my
choice, and then I

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make some private and
selfish demand for secrecy,

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threatening anyone who
appears with my yellow stick.

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The flint green for
staying awake simply

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is the color of the
water lapping, lapping

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under a few small bridges,
the bridges in cities or towns

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where there are none.

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I don't like the slapping.

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It makes me feel my
memory is an omen.

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Flint green makes
me feel that if I

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got up and went
walking I would find

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imaginary almonds everywhere.

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So I remain awake, talk out
loud to myself, simple things.

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Ask myself for a match,
wonder if someone out there

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will be walking by.

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If they were, would I see them?

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Would they want to come in?

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Sometimes I take
this staying awake

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and try resolving
details or themes.

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Like with questions, like those
at the end of stories or poems

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in school texts.

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How are the three details
of the story resolved?

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Is generosity so privately
handled a good thing?

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What is the importance of
Ruby's awkwardness when

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confronted with the stranger?

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Are almonds, which take
the form of memories,

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immersed in water a good thing?

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Will the narrator
ever fly again?

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I'm losing it when I begin
these, so I go to the window.

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It would be nice if the window
asked me back, turned back,

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helped itself to an attitude.

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God knows enough look
in here during the day.

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I'm that close to the street.

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I could even step out,
begin whistling again,

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ask someone if they want a
rain check on coming over.

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I don't know just
what I will do now.

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I might wash up, I
might whistle to see

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if any winter birds
fly nearer, try

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resolving almonds or themes.

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Isn't there some infinity
to the generosity

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of trying to tell your story?

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Or better, isn't
there some prior life

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to telling everything this way?

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Like secretly taking
the smallest belonging

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from a passing stranger, opening
it up under an open nightlight,

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the kind the night
sky sometimes makes,

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and ordering this belonging,
giving it an attitude or omen

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so some other truthful
window might appear.

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Thank you very much.

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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