Before

the miracle of existence ishow memory is made half

of things misremembered

my father in his childhood

danced the checkered land-scape of his own intelligence

& anger & to hear him tell it

now you’d think he knew allalong of the country waiting

for him on the other side of

decades & seascapes whatmy father will not tell you

is the first time he left for

america he almost didn’t

bring his passport to the

airport with him he hadnever realised he needed

proof of his homeland to

leave it behind & meanwhilemy father’s father tossed in

empty bedsheets unreliable

& floundering in his ownblackened pride & mean-while my father began to

sculpt the story of the lush

lobed hope he brought to

america & the cloudburst of

love & grief he left behind

& meanwhile my father’s

fury turned common as a

mango or more rare &meanwhile each decadeeach seascape between

my father & his home-

land lapped at his toessanded his story to dust

made static out of phone

lines & as my father handed

his passport to the next

immigration officer & took a

deep breath into the memory

of the future & the sweet dis-

solving tribute of blackness &

warmth he left south of theborder his own father turned

over in the empty sheets &

grinned wide in his sleep,the jackal grin of the living