WEBVTT

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OK.

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I think maybe two more poems.

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This is a little love
poem called "Fado."

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My mom's family is Portuguese.

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And a fado is--

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it's a style of
folk singing which

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is very passionate and over
the top in a lot of ways.

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As a kid, I remember being
taken to see these humongous,

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older women in very elaborate
black dresses singing

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this stuff.

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It's operatic in a way.

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But also, the sound
of it has some quality

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of Middle Eastern scales in it.

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In one sense, it's
like the blues.

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But in another sense,
it's just otherworldly.

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So the poem, at some
point, makes reference

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to this style of singing.

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"Fado."

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"At some point in
our lives, let's say,

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some place both alarming
and companionable,

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maybe a ledge almost
too high for any return,

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we might have to
hope safety descends

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from the sky like a
long wicker basket

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dangling off a grappling hook.

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Why not this one?

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Ours will be a touch
made out of four, maybe

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five very eager pronouns.

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So put down your wine.

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Why not call it a test?

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As if to prove
the fact you and I

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will never become one
creature can't matter.

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And every expectation is not
a dress rehearsal for death.

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I don't need anything now.

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I want everything.

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Each button loosened
into each breath dreamed.

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Right now it's likely
I am nearly the equal

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of a mole, an eccentric one who
wishes to root down a mountain.

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He longs for innocence,
as we all do.

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My heart feels like
an overused paw;

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heedless, compulsive,
strong but sore,

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prone to aching from
days of digging.

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It is the mole in me, nearly
blind, a little furtive,

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shrugging, who
lights the candles.

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My eyes sliding from
the floor to your face

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like one of the singers of
fado; those trembling Portuguese

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tunnelers, those doubters
who puzzle their own doubt,

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embracers of the impossible.

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Now put me in danger,
your mouth on mine.

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And let me do the same for you."

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