Jorie Graham

everyone woke up. It was a gorgeous sunny day. The lists with our names on them were laid out in the light. Someone straightened the pile. Are they complete I heard a voice ask though it was awfully far away from the beautiful day. Which was a masterpiece. Something’s apogee. A hegemon, a crystallisation – a gigantic re-beginning. We will all be trans- formed I heard myself think....

A hand or something likea handappeared in the uppersky & Isaw what must have beenits fingers un-furl & drop two ice-whitedice which begantheir slowtumbling each over eachdown till they turnedto wings draggedby the weight oftheir bodies down & thenall the new &improvedviruses shook out theirmutationsas they fell, as theysprinkled down & dustedus – in-candescent –...

If I bring this voiceIf I came backagain when Icome backagain if again it ispossible required withthis voice still this voice so narrow itspassage still untrustworthy, too deep therequest, too slippery theladdering of –what was the tongue –cold – arrowing – may it notbe English – if they inviteme back – some morninglike thisafter historyif they drag meback...

burns its small holein the tentwhere 3 lines on paperhave just been written down,

the pen is lifting offas the missilehits, the zero pointwhere you call

into the face ofyour childwhich does not move,the zero

of its lid you’re pushing up

seeking the gaze –just lookat me, lookback at me its father is

screaming, the zerowhere he only findsa hand, a partof the arm, where he picks them up...

of my own died. Idid not die. Mylove did not. Is intact. Ichecked. Beloveds

were not dragged

into the net ofthe eye ofthe drone, were not dis-membered into

instant ancestors –not even memories, toofast, too torn, no. Screams. Wewoke. The sun

came first inveins of red then rips,pinks, then rose asusual. We

didn’t look up, atefast, were late, the day filledup, we askedall our

questions...