Homecoming
My father is a room of blue
of giant blue and anger
of serge and two-inch leather.
He fills this room! The hair on his knuckles is electric black.
He can draw his fist back
through history to strike.
All the weight of physics and quadratics
dates and quotes
religions and a thousand moral certainties
complaints of no shoes and men with no feet
keeping left, giving way to the right
staying up in the middle
are behind the hand
inside my cell in the middle of the night
with its oh so iron door and single blanket
its cornered bucket and the crunch of size elevens
that leave no bruises. On the surface
the speed of sound at sea levels us.
Caleb
Majorca, Vic
9/2/07
==============================================================================
The information contained in this email and any attachment is confidential and
may contain legally privileged or copyright material. It is intended only for
the use of the addressee(s). If you are not the intended recipient of this
email, you are not permitted to disseminate, distribute or copy this email or
any attachments. If you have received this message in error, please notify the
sender immediately and delete this email from your system. The ABC does not
represent or warrant that this transmission is secure or virus free. Before
opening any attachment you should check for viruses. The ABC's liability is
limited to resupplying any email and attachments
==============================================================================
|