Rajiv would catch the train, morning dew through country cane;
ferry 'cross the brown river; find walk ways
through the big market square & squall into a clearing:
our school (pate bald Jesuit Fathers chalking,
amo amas & ferulas hawking) his classsmates:
our treasure isle so far from home; far ago as hic et nunc.
That afternoon (circa '64) breaking city riots tapped shoulders
hunched over the Cyclops; a part of him between breaths jumped
to the window sill searching Ulysses-like for home.
Smoke in the sky, furies undoing, on stand by grave shovels -
noise in such tearing hurry we all assumed our parents'
patience with stilts and mud had snapped again, estate
racked hands called out again; though
Rajiv's eyes kept parsing
fear and his heart whirred like whishing rotor blades.
We watched him take off for in dangered streets, the plank walk
ferry; his train, what station names?
stuff of bold adventure!
He stopped at the corner, looked both ways; he looked
back, pulled a smile like lotus or a boy scout knife
from pockets we knew nothing about. We waved
and cycled home.
Next day he didn't show up. The day after he seemed
quieter, well templed – as if from now on
laugh or talk in class
so close to city fiends was Brahmin-like forbidden;
he'd done his homework; found what rules.
We've kept in touch 'cross fabled cities around the globe.
Back then we owned no iShare wires, no tongue
to tweet "r-u-ok?"
Students of old cracked worlds, bright
suns from town & village, we just assumed.
– W.W.
L'ANGOISSE DE LA PRAIRIE
iv: Sketch
Not only the sky and wind but nothing
can be drawn save this becoming, something
always only beginning
to know itself. The rest is
the grotesques of a blind man switching
on and off his face his own hand's light.
(from "Gift Of Screws" by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 