Ghost Leg
When your leg was still your leg
and not a ghost leg
you walked each row
made
sure each seed breached
Dancing flames ring the cotton field
I dip and arch while you push the tractor
So we courted over three bitter seasons
Then in a copse of dense cool fern
vexed
only
by deer
I kneel
a wooden flute
you mount
a knife in clay.
You always laughed being insecure.
Averting my gaze
you peered up through the trees.
Called to a thousand times
You never looked back.
Song of Cyclops
Polyphemus
alone in your cave
I can hear you
In your dark place
who would watch
on a moon-surface hillside
your brothers and
sisters circle in an
windswept orbit
from land to land.
Ramallah
Port au prince
Baltimore
Fallujah.
Phantom Soldier
I pray.
On the soldier highways
rusty lean phantom soldiers
with your rucksacks of molten tar
when you slept, I put a glass to your chest
and listened.
Remember, it was me who shipped you away
angered and uncertain.
Remember when you called me an ungrateful child.
At first, I said this freedom has a peal to it—
When you didn’t come back
I knew it was an execution.
Phantom soldier
come home.
Reach back to me.
