SINGULARITY
Fired from God’s .45 she tore a hole
in me black as a crow’s wing.
She found the universe dull as a sitcom, the laughtrack
louder with the voices of the dead than October
rain’s gallop across the roof, and so
collapsed. She languished, lilac, leopard;
I prayed to prowl with her, prey with her, lick
blood and meat with her, but God sucked
my tongue into His mouth and
bit. Rain, you are song when I long
for arms; the birds tuck heads
under wing, wings are weapons, like the wind
in the leaves; wings are choices, like the sea
throwing up stars on the sand. She tore
a hole in me the size of God
so heavy with gravity not even light
escapes me.
—from Rattle #28, Winter 2007
__________
Daniel Stewart: “In eighth grade Reading my class was assigned a poem to write. When my teacher, Mr. Stover, returned the poem, he took me aside and told me he loved it and that I was a talented writer. It was the first time he’d addressed me as an individual, and after, always acknowledged me. I’ve been writing ever since, trying to be noticed by the Mr. Stover’s of the world.”
