excavation

they came looking for roots

tendril of family names

branching out into the striated past

constant rhizomatic search

you dig and

        you dig and you

dig deep into the bone of history

the spade glances off something hard

and resolute, all that force returns

to the unsteadied hand

you scrape away the top layer of dirt

and what is revealed is everything

you did not know

the past is a hidden country,

let’s say, the past hides

facts about our families:

this one married their niece,

that one abandoned their post,

this one was an angry drunk,

that one spent the family fortune,

this one died by lightning,

that one drowned in the river

under mysterious circumstances.

all of them had reasons

too complicated to write down—

the answers buried deeper

than you dare to dig.

and so the question

and so the question:

is there any way

you could let me know

when the moment is right

and you no longer so broken?

concert

i wanted to tell you

you played beautifully

tonight. as we gathered

in the living room

with friends and family.

we sang the old songs

with smiles and with tears

all our voices blended—

a deep sounding

we find the edges

of tradition, where

yesterday and the moment

meet. no need

to put it on the page

just let it find a home

in voices as they rejoice

in the stories of all of us,

the shared adventures of failure

and triumph, the ways we left

the motherland

an echo in every word.

the old songs

recovering the songs

is never easy

one generation

stops listening

one generation

stops singing

the words are emptied

and full of noise

they become a jumble

of vowels

a string of consonants—

nonsensical rhymes

is it possible to know

what the song is about

when we have no idea

what the words mean

find someone

who knows the old songs

pressure

there’s always pressure

determine direction

find a quiet place

perhaps a garden

perhaps a valley

with soft edges

where you can face decision

wait for answers

for questions without answers

squeezing the blood

hematidrosis

ready yourself

with what will you brace?

where did this start?

all this weight

might be a treasure

there is only so much

time to spend

carrying our little regrets

haemolacria

eyes diseased

you must wait rightly

fix your gaze

wade into the river

face the current

whether it pulls or pushes

follow it home

or let it bear you away