Dear Yusef, after a stroke
not of an oar or swimmer,
you’re paralyzed on the right side,
part of both arms. They’re attaching
a pacemaker to your heart right now.
It should keep your heart beating,
so you will get off the table into a bed.
My heart feels funny, guess my heart’s praying,
but I don’t pray.
Life is suddenly a battlefield,
the world needs you more than anyone.
I don’t want to write: “more than anyone I know.”
You have given us holy information,
your heart and intelligence have constructed
a free nation for all, beauty for all
like rice and sweet potatoes.
The Greeks say, I know, “A poet is a maker.”
I don’t know the Greek word for cook.
I think poems are not made,
they’re cooked, or eaten raw.
God invented us and green poison ivy.
Simple fact, it’s absolutely senseless doing evil.
God, if you exist, are you grateful?
I would be grateful if you grabbed me
by the balls and pulled me up to heaven,
only if I can tell stories of a child murdered.
What would Mary have done if she strangled Jesus—
man, you know from experience:
she would have hanged herself. Now this.