January 28t, 2014

I have almost no memory of this day. It slipped in between many other days. I don't
know how to give voice to its need. It asks for something and I am bare. Surely I
lived a day, went to school, taught, and came home. Surely these things happened.
But now, it seems like a color of a day, an indistinct yellow. It is cold and smelling
of disinfectant. I know I did not sleep. I know I did not dismantle the machine that
is chewing my students in its metal teeth. What record album was it that I found
in the furnace room of my childhood house? There was a stationary exercise bike that
I rode for hours at age 12 and a wood pile and of course the furnace. I used to have a
small studio in that room in which I made art of the wood scraps my father left behind.
There was sawdust and a work bench and tools. This room was in many of my dreams
and in them it was never safe. Under the workbench was a box of old albums. I never
listened to a single one until senior year of high school, but, at 12, sweating from the
stationary exercise bike, I pulled one out that had a picture of a terrible robot eating
human beings. Broken women and men hung from his metal fingers.



January 27th, 2014


It was fourth period when the lights went out. This is it I said.
This is when the apocalypse begins. My students held their breath
and pretended along because they are seniors and pretending is
almost beyond their reach. We have three oranges, one banana and
a half bottle of water I say, these are our rations. Everyone empty
your bags; we must take stock of all of our resources. They smile.
Later, at the college, I discuss math class with a student. When everyone
is screaming different numbers it does something to my head she says.
On the way to the water fountain I see the sunset stratified between the
buildings. I yell her name. She comes running and we stand together
staring so long we forget to speak. It is beauty unutterable and she wishes
she had a camera. The professor on the phone in the hallway next to us
speaks of his divorce. I am a man adrift he says and I want to say, but
look at the sky! He looks at me three times and never lowers his voice.
He wishes to be visible. I want always to know the secrets of things.