I asked my Chinese neighbor
if he draws chalk circles, burns
paper clothes, pagodas, money – joss
for hungry ghosts in winter.
He said “do you crawl on your knees
to Guadalupe and kiss the steps?"
This morning I breathe smoke
from fires in parks and trash cans
across Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx –
dismal tributes to autumn
gasping for cigarette butts,
dumpster diving for rain.
My cough, the rattle of dead newspapers,
obituaries and memory of ancestors
dry as leaves awaiting a match.
There is no circle chalked around me,
city, the here and now. Nothing
that can hold us sacred by much.
Parchment heroes and hierograms
torn from the book of miracles
leave a fine ash on my tongue.
Leaving the apartment, I genuflect,
touch each station of my body’s cross:
“spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch”
As the sun rises over the haze,
I summon my grandfathers by name:
Hans, Johannes, Axel.
What is their instruction
for penitence? Where must I crawl,
what stones must I kiss this day?
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
Randall — Thou art a priest in poet’s clothing. You take in confessions making concessions and intone “culpa tua. Perform five days of office labor, three bad deli lunches as penance.”
Oh, and great poem!
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Three bad deli lunches?? That’s… harsh man. Harsh.
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As Morrison said, no eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn. It’s smoky out there, better line your lungs with old newspapers. Buddhists took the World Series in 5 over the Pentecostals, but no miracles were recorded until game 4. Viewership was down, and Moms For Liberty wanted scorecards banned. Join Joe Buck and the Pope for a wrap-up tonight at 11.
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Fantastic. Yes, no miracles reported until game 4, but what a catch! The scorecards burned like offerings to the Saints, but they were playing a different game entirely. News at 11 indeed.
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Religion or faith or spiritual belief, however it comes it is a conundrum to the rational mind, and a lure to the soul. I love the juxtaposition of ancient and modern, alien and familiar you weave into this, and the fact that as with mortality and the future, no conclusions can be drawn about our human content, and yet how much we want to.
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I’m wondering what was the context for your neighborly inquiry, an irritated something brought you to caricature him in a sardonic manner, or perhaps just day-to-day small talk of our beloved salt-of-the-earth New Yorkers. Anyway, I like it. We need it. Humanity needs more of this humanity, including of course, your Chinese neighbor’s just as funny response. Great writing, Randall.
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Thanks. Good question. It was an interesting response to what I thought was a casual question. However he was insulted. Good to hear from you.
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