Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A Late Easter

Where do we go now, Mom?

The Bedouin and Tuareg are old hands
at alleviating clutter.
Pull four corners to the center of the old kit bag,
smile and move on.
Not so easy in Askewville, North Carolina.
Staying put in mobile homes is not
the optimal survival strategy, clucks the expert.
They should have known better.
When every piece of pocket detritus
is a sign of the True Cross,
How do I lay my burden down?

The liars call our pocket gadgets the new nomadic gifts,
but where is the nomad?
We drown far easier along the Via Dolorosa,
our Thingmaker churning out Creepy Crawlers
faster than a semiconductor plant on three-shift schedule.

You will die when your things take ownership of you.

Here is your talisman your rag your toy your bone your cross.

Why, look at Mr. North Carolina!
He’s fallen and he can’t get up.
Too many toys in too many pockets.
She’s no fun she fell right over.

Where do we go now, mom?
Mama can’t drive with her cataracts.
You just leave her be.

Let the Libyan carry the Creepy Crawlers
Can you lay your burden down?
Can you give him the baubles the Romans call
SAMs, cluster bomblets?
Is this weightless?
Is this giving it to God?

Will you wake from your dream,
with a wolf at the door,
reaching out for Veronica?
(She’s not allowed to take your toys away,
but o that forehead glistens.)

Debt burden, underwater mortgage, skinned knee,
foreclosure, chapter 11, ow

Did you know the daughters of sorrow were
gathered at the Wailing Wall?

Steppe warriors are long gone now,
Tuareg sell their kids to chocolate merchants
(not allowed to nibble the ears).
Can’t sell your Skechers or Jimmy Chus to any
cut-rate T.E. Lawrence.
Nothing left to d0 but fall fall fall let’s fall.

And if each tornado-alley chorus of survivors hollers
“Death to fashionistas! Give us Barabbas!”
You know this movie score.
You become naked.

Could not lay those burdens down.
Each Creepy Crawler
Each installment plan shiny object
becomes a nail for palm or ankle.

Father, into your hands
I commend my Mastercard, Toys R Us
Clutter of the Bedouin
Where do we go now, mom?

The body that never went nomadic,
the shell encased in burdens,
may now be anointed.

Locked in a shuddering Earth,
no stones rolled away,
but sure smells pretty.

Easter came late to a resonant planet.
The weightless chased across a Mobius-strip Sahel,
The weighted in tombs of laid-down burdens.
Where do we go now, mom?

Loring Wirbel
April 19, 2011


Ruth said...

This is wonderful stuff, Loring. Wonderful. I really love the idea of Easter coming late. And one day, maybe not at all? Not that I love that idea, but as a conceit, it's powerful. Can Easter be resurrected?

Loring Wirbel said...

Thanks so much, Ruth. In re resurrection, Annie Brodrick and Sam Mills were playing a game of deciphering song references and stations of the cross, and she mentioned an overlap between Tori Amos and Frightened Rabbit crucifixion references - "I think I'll save crucified for another year." This one was fun to put together!

In other news, half our town of Monument (just north of Springs) got evacuated at 5 this morning for a gas leak on a railroad car! Film at 11.