WEBVTT

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I had the carne seca dinner
at El Charro tonight.

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And the salt is starting to make
its way back through my skin.

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Mostly in my lips at the
moment, it feels like.

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I'll read a poem.

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It's about my father.

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When my first book
came out, which

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has maybe three or four
poems about my father in it,

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he read the book and came up
to me afterwards and said,

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I read your book last night.

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And I said, Oh,
what did you think?

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And he said, well, let
me ask you a question.

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He said-- he said, I liked it.

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Let me ask you a question.

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I said, what's that?

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And he said, are you
writing another one?

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I said, Yeah.

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He said, well, do me a favor.

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Leave me out of this one.

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[LAUGHTER]

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He's an egomaniac.

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There were only three
poems in there about him.

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And I'd actually already
written this poem.

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It's called, I am
a Pilgrim and A

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Stranger, which is an old
Appalachian folk song, actually.

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In the one small
clearing between the tag

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end of an endorphin spike, and
a ragged pulse tone emitted

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by his heart monitor,
uncomprehending,

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hopeless, rueful,
paid of recrimination,

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my father wants again to
roll up the pastel pajama leg

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and show me the ulceration
that pits his thigh.

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I had no more arguments on the
5th of 26 floors for compliance

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and denial at Brigham
and Women's Hospital.

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I can't even hold his hand.

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Nothing to be afraid of.

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An amber circle
rims and measures

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the ulcer, bruised purple at
the edge, hub and core, gray

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as axle grease, the skin crusts
with scabs, look long, alone,

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and it's like staring
hard into the sun.

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Turn away, the afterimage burns
on your retina, a negative.

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Another more restless and
weary eye blankly glaring back.

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Clench shut your lids.

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It tracks inside your head.

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Not God's eye since
he's withdrawn

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from the universe and
spot welded the seams,

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weaving all his laws
inside to gear the engine.

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Not pains or prides but the
eye of a pilgrim and wanderer

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for whom Earth is only a
wind struck and lonely ridge.

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Overlooking cities
sprawled below on a plane

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the color of straw.

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What have I seen--

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what have I seen I have not
let go of and only loved?

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