Voodoo VIII: Spiritual Cleansing & Blessing
from Blood Dazzler
Patricia Smith
There's no deception like the world after rain.
Suddenly God is everywhere,
winking from dumpster rivers,
using the insistent perfume of plain water
to scrape funk from alleyways and men.
In the seconds after storm,
we sign on for brash little resurrections.
We lose those ten pesky pounds,
resolve to enthusiastically fuck dim spouses,
stop reaching across breakfast tables
to slap our children into silence.
We straighten framed blacklight squares
of The Last Supper, musing upon the wide
sad eyes of wept clarity and looming doom.
And we are comforted until the sun
blazes the stench forward, rebirthing rot
and workdays. Then His eyes are dry,
threaded with lightning and hurt,
and we are reminded, again,
just what He's capable of.
4 comments:
What a concise and vicious indictment of our tendency to waver toward hypocrisy in response to crisis. I particularly appreciate " . . . we sign on for brash little resurrections." And " . . . resolve to enthusiastically fuck dim spouses," and " . . . the wide sad eyes of wept clarity and looming doom." Thanks for posting this, and the accompanying photos (which are yours?).
You're welcome, Peter. Thank you. The photos are mine from a trip we took to New Orleans back in May. In top one, there's a big looming shadow of Jesus cast against the back of the church. Below: out the window of the Olivier House, the guesthouse where we stayed in the Quarter.
The photo with Jesus seems so appropriate to the poem . . . it's almost as though it were commissioned. Or maybe it just resonates with me . . . the dark street, the mysterious overlord who seems more threatening than reassuring. The shot from the guesthouse window is a nice counterpoint . . . an opening into light that actually seems reassuring to me. It's interesting how visuals can enhance words. I suppose some might say its the words that enhance the visuals.
wow,wow,wow! what a poem!
thanks for giving me something extra to think about today when i'm teaching teenagers.
i love "sad eyes of wept clarity" and "rebirthing rot/and workdays."
maybe i'll live on the edge and share this with my colleagues at inservice tomorrow afternoon, a sort of pre-thanksgiving send-off.
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