Sonny Liston Considers The Ways Of Vanity From Heaven
Anna’s hummingbird
on a barrel cactus thorn:
his chest thrust out as if
he is sucking up all the oxygen
in the Universe.
He takes off buzzing like
a fighter plane stooping
out of the sun, proud
as Cassius Clay pounding me down
February 25, 1964…
Was that his vanity making
him do all that,
taunting me as he gave me that whooping
calling me a “big ugly bear?”
My mother raised 21 children,
and Ali finally died of Parkinson’s disease
didn’t he?
That didn’t end in vanity
did it?
I wonder now if beautiful creatures
inadvertently take the way of vanity
as I did in my life
flirting with pretty girls
in Casinos
acting as if I’ve read some
some book or another when
I’d only glanced at
the back flap
and
sometimes,
diving off
from a tall cactus plant
to challenge some tough opponent
finding nothing but my own reflection
in that flat, hard glass
right before everything
went silent.
Palm Canyon, after the rains.
Write here…
In A World Gone Generous (For my sisters Mary and Pam)
the adults settle in while the children fuss,
or stare straight ahead until they wiggle
into their dream worlds
waiting for the first words.
And the first words have always been:
“Dearly Beloved”
spoken to the children and friends,
spoken to the spirits
who wander the shade,
lest we forget
that this was once
an inhospitable country.
A thousand years ago
on this spot
were stones as hot as skillets
and fresh water as rare as an arrowhead
scuffed up from the dirt.
Those first people,
the Chumash and the Cahuillas (ka wee yas)
are walking past us now
still desolate with thirst
and struck dumb in disbelief
at just how much there is
right here
right now.
In the shade too, are those who
once loomed large in our lives
and didn’t understand us then.
They stand just out of sight,
their sun dazzled eyes seeking ours
knowing there is no currency
to their apologies.
Dearly Beloved
when you spread your mud cloth on the sand
those thirty years ago
you would have no way of knowing
this day was waiting for you,
with troubled marriages
troubled children
troubled times
to live through.
But now
in your seventieth years
you are victorious
in the love
as perfectly suited to this earth
as rain
or cactus flowers
or your grandchildren
fidgeting to play
with the ghosts of the Cahuillia
children passing through.
Those who didn’t understand you then
have no power over you now.
No referendum, no
law can change the reality
they are no longer a part of,
this is why their inconstant forms
shift from foot to foot
silently both wanting
and not wanting to come in.
And though they are not forgiven
we can if we wish,
welcome them to take their place
in a new world made generous
by this blessed shade
by this blessed company
and by your well deserved
and honest love.
