I cover my eyes with electrical wires,
see yellow dawn eclipse Stop signs,
turn green and screech into phosphorescence.
Each flickering finger:
a memory of a flashing yellow sign,
blinks between charcoal sheets of monsoon rain
then slices through the thawing of our hunger
with the cracked eaves of a shattered house.
Its autobiographical muscle —
stringing trees into a forest, convulses,
only to be flattened under its metallic leaves
and sold as bricks for its basement of fire.
Copyright © 2009 Sherwin Bitsui
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.