Morgan Parker
You always thought angels lived
in the dark. You didn't sleep.
Appeared at the foot of Mom's bed
covered in Nana's perfume. You saw
and kept seeing. You let them
make a crescent of your spine.
The same thing over and over.
You don't trust air. You call the ghosts
the angels your kin.
There is one who looks like your brother.
One in Nike shorts tastes sauce from
a wooden spoon and pours rum
into his brown on the stoop.
There's one who brings the weed.
There's one you call your brother.
They are already dead. They live
in the future. You see them because
you can't sleep. You feel cold.
Angels with ringtones and child support.
Angels with PhDs. One in your bed.
One calculates the tip at brunch.
One colors inside the chalk line.
One walks with you into the disco
evening, radiating purposefully.
August rain is cold. The desert
is cold. Verdicts. Seasons.
Verdicts. Night. Blood. Saliva.
A cousin of a friend of a friend who brought
a six-pack, yes, perfect, let everyone in.
Your angels fly outfits, second chances.
Handguns, candy, cigars, mothers, mothers
for your angels and children for the mothers.
They spook. They blood and sage.
And when the policemen come to break
everything         an angel
in a polo shirt answers the door, says
officers I'm sorry
I'm not
READ ABOUT TODAY'S POEM
Share
Tweet
Forward
GRAPPLING WITH IDENTITY IN "FIELDNOTES ON ORDINARY LOVE"

In an interview with NPR, poet and video game designer Keith S. Wilson charts how space, physics, race and video games galvanize his first collection of poetry. "My whole life I've been playing video games, games that I learned vocabulary from. I learned the word semantic from a game called 'Final Fantasy VI'....When you're a kid, all of the differences between high art and low art—they don't matter."

via NPR
READ ALL TODAY'S HEADLINES
Pictured is Ilya Kaminsky's hand-written version of the poem.

"Aleksandr Blok’s little poem wasn’t the first one I fell in love with, but it was the first poem I read that showed me that poetry isn’t there merely to relay information. The poem is not about the event. It is the event. This poem’s repetitions and syntax enact what it says."
READ THIS WEEK'S ISSUE
POETRY DAILY DEPENDS ON YOU

Our Spring Fundraising Drive is underway. With your support, we make reading the best contemporary poetry a treasured daily experience.
DONATE NOW
You have received this email because you submitted your email address at www.poems.com. 
If you would like to unsubscribe please click here.

© 2019 Poetry Daily, Poetry Daily, MS 3E4, 4400 University Dr., Fairfax, VA 22030

Design by the Binding Agency