I cannot believe it has been 10 years since my older brother, Solomon Wesley Belton, passed away in a car accident. It seems I've commemorated his death each year with a reading of this poem I wrote many years ago, a few weeks following his untimely death. Since I do not plan on doing any spontaneous readings (although I'm tempted to sit-in on the Occupy Wall Street protests when I'm back in New York in a few days...so perhaps I will share it then). I miss you big bro. And wish that you were still here to share in all the wonders of life with me.
In Memory of Solomon Wesley
shifting, cross glass-encumbered street:
on bench beside bus stop, asleep on southbound 9, a train
crossing midwest, en route to san francisco
hearing click-click, click of roller coaster as it ascends
on ferris-wheel, in parking lot, summertime basement party
hot-dog stand, buying tickets, the alley behind st theresa’s
the familiar tree house
Certain memories wait
beyond the sublet I rent to keep myself from spacing:
scattering out beyond sulphuric spheres that envelop god’s earth
beyond effect & artifice, beyond the park where children are trained
to dangle, beyond the songs sang at grandmother’s burial, & still further
scattering, beyond fenestra’s dressing bedroom, beyond hudson, jersey-skyline
or in descent, beneath gasoline puddle reflecting sun’s light, beneath warm blankets
darkness, crouched, beneath wandering twilight:
I see at night / think better in the pitch / and feel better
About you leaving in my dreams / where we are still
Chasing the ice cream truck / for blocks at a time
To obtain enough penny-candy / to last us until morning
Enough tootsie rolls & blow pops
Enough slushes & ice cream
Sandwiches & sodas & poe-ta-doe chips
Enough oatmeal pies & jellybeans
Certain memories wait for their view
spastic, of me and you strutting through old neighborhoods
telling what it was to hold, hush, brush & make delight for first time, or fifth
after waiting, pushing for it, beneath stairs, passenger seat pushed back, all-night
to a woman, a man, anyone, everyone, we met our first weeks at college
Certain memories are left waiting for a better view of now:
behind women adorned
knotted scarves & colored hats
behind leaves with faces
dimpled flesh beneath the rain
beneath strings of honk & horn & scream
inquiring after accident ahead
beneath muddled-crumplings
soon mush against the pavement
behind wheel & steel & windshield
until you
flew from the scene.
0 words to yo mama:
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