Today's poem is by Kara Candito
Monologue During A Blackout
What about zebra?suppose
you had to come back as a zebra,
knowing you'd spend your life
trampling the savannah with the desperation
of an Open During Construction sign?
Once, stepping off a plane
onto the blacktop of an ancient city
where my father was born,
I smelled burning garbage and understood
anything can happen, Often,
it doesn't. The rain stops. We are not
washed away. I do not
glide down five black flights
to greet the electric truck. But when
the air conditioner aches on again, how
blunt, how exquisite. No, I don't
want to be famous. Yes, the radio
a man with the voice of a woman sings
about a woman. The sky,
you said, is darker now. Would you
call white a bright cobor? Would you
like Bach better through headphones?
I mean the seismic privacy of tiny, angry
gods beating your middle ear. I mean
to make you dizzy. Here,
run your thumb along my chin
while two workers shimmy down
a high voltage poll and everything
that can pass between two people
pleasure, shock, surveillance
the static of itprivate or publicdraws shut
like curtains across a first class cabin.
What I thought in the dark,
forget it. A group of zebras is called
a harem. We call them black.
We call them white.
Copyright © 2014 Kara Candito All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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