DETOUR

I had put my days behind me

almost as they happened    rolling

faces streets personal dramas

into a scroll    quickly

quickly    sometimes my heels

were caught in the last conver-

sation    so shaking to free

myself    all that clutter flew

up into the air    scrambled

sentences my sister’s death    the

name of what’s his name    his mouth

his fingers    a heavy chunk of a

principled political statement

whose?

future was my intention    but

all that detritus like sand like

dust has drifted into the eyes

of my children    who after all must

continue    one of my heaviest

sorrows has just tumbled at

their feet    they stumble    what

to do    anger    fear    luckily their

children have imperiously

called offering their lives    a

detour    thank god they’ve all

gotten away