July 17, 2022An Open Letter to Our New Poet Laureate
Why am I not allowed delight?
—Ada Limón, “Give Me This”
There’s pizza on the stove, Ada, along with a plate
of July tomatoes and fresh mozzarella
because I was hungry until it was dark
and I want to send this before midnight.
Even those tomatoes and fresh mozzarella
are not tempting enough to trouble me
because I want to send this before midnight.
It’ll be easier to eat then.
Today, what tempts me into trouble
is you. Good trouble, like we wondered
if it’s still possible we will eat each other alive,
human sushi wrapped in the ocean’s dementia.
You did so good tumbling into wonder,
new shots of faraway cosmos reminding
humanity wrapped in brackish forgetting
we’re here with trees that swallow questions
like shots with friendly comradery reminding
us of biscuits or a seven foot blacksnake
climbing the tree to swallow whole, no question:
groundhogs, goldfinches, silvery fish.
Biscuits for everyone I thought this might be for but you.
I listened through all the things I didn’t do
while watching groundhogs, finches, silvery fish.
You carried me through the worst of the fear.
I’m listening to a playlist called “Dead of July,”
eating the tomatoes, the worst of the fear
already on my plate so I grabbed pizza instead
because I’m hungry now. It’s dark.
from Poets Respond