In Which Danielle Does Not Pray

I sat with my grandfather.

He knew my name, probably. He gasped for air.

I sat, loving him and not knowing what to do.

I offered to read Sherlock Holmes aloud, to rub his feet,

Or to bring him water.

I tell you this because I want you to think well of me,

Even if I was not useful. He declined.

I watched my mother, stalwart and gentle,

Care for him consummately. She shaved his whiskers,

Held his cup for him to drink, tucked the blanket around his feet.

Those things I might have done, 

But dying is an ugly business, and she did not shy from the rest. 

She held his hand through the gurgling ripping coughing. She did not balk

At urine or vomit or blood. She saw his legs become spindles.

She smoothed his hair and looked at him with such tenderness,

As though his mouth were not crusted yellow and as though 

He had never been a hard man.

I sat in the room and watched her ministrations,

And I could not possibly have loved her more. 

When he dies, I will cry for love of her.

(Selah. Ainsi soit-il.)

Wailing Wall

Cry, then, little monster

Let all of it whale up to the surface

Burst through your mouth

And slap its tail against the water

The way it stings

From all those molecules, hydrogen bonds

Clinging together

So the palm of all this grief stings

For full minutes afterward

And that is as it should be
Though once it's out
You needn't hold to it longer
Do not reel it back
Or throw a spangled scarf over it

This opening you've made
Is the essence of courage
And the shame isn't yours

It's for some other belly
And some other whale

Love Song to Carmen Sandiego

Hey Carmen, where you going next?
I've got my suitcase packed, and I'm ready to leave with you
And there's nowhere in the world I wouldn't go
So don't leave me here so lonely in Cairo

I would meet you in Minsk and kiss you in Kiev
And hold your hand on the banks of the Thames
I'd fly from the Mojave all the way to Skopje
And never look back
And never look back

You have ten different passports, I know,
Hidden in the pockets of that beautiful red trench coat
But since you're on the lam
Let me run a while with you
Hey Carmen, where you going next?

Cause I've got soles by the purseful, and a handy Finnish phrasebook
And two pairs of dark sunglasses, and a box of fake mustaches
And no one will know our faces
No, no one will know our faces

Hey Carmen, where you going next?