Primer coat questions
Primer coat questions
My mind is between mice
either breaking their kiwi
fruit skulls, their fuzzy husks
the clicking of supple spines.
That day I was a genocidal killer
and usually I am not white
but today I am because concrete
leaves lime on me and so
does paint. It’s a DIY invasion.
Plugged in, podcast poets
refer to their self or ‘selves’ as if
no-one else can get them
and if I’m being honest I’d say
I am confused too. Aren’t I just me?
My dog can apparently look with love
the same love I have for him.
I need that now when I think
of my son and how I’m losing him.
Sure, we’ve connected over
mandolin tremors – he can hear a C
when I can only hear fading echoes
together we’ve rued how flies now bite.
Then I remember the song of stroking –
Up, Down Daniel Son, Uuup-dowwwn.
There are big questions for me
in the molars of storm clouds
things like is there enough time
to finish the thing I have started?
Is being part Pinoy making me good
at humidity? Maybe I will finally
meet my mother on her terms
as the world warms her barrio.
Does dark skin make me immune
to cancer? I paint on, straight
and conservative over taped edges
watching white bore into my fingers
turning those tan eddies into pale whorls
and I worry again about my son and his rat
tail and flat feet and double joints
and anaphylaxis and vague falsetto.
Am I just some cruel tight-faced
master slapping on strips of white?
The world as I remember will suck
the mother tongue from your mouth
put it with all things that have gone.
How many coats are needed before you
can’t see the grain? What will stop
the weather splitting timber to its core?
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