poem
Volume 35, Number 4

 

we the dead rise again 
holding our bread in our teeth 
no longer needing any bus ticket 

this is my body 
ash and paste 

these are my teeth 
ivory 

here is my tongue 
serpent stone 

here my feet rise up over the dawn 
here my hand rests against your face the world 

the Lord claims vengeance is his 
but he too is reborn with we the dead 
transformed from mare into the sea on which we ride 
rising renewed 

it's said they put us in their booths and gave us their names 
along with passageways and maps across the earth 
here our gateways and our stones 
here the markers of our goings 
golem men 

it's said we had no fathers and no mothers 
but were born inside machines 
awaked and then set forth 
after the King of the Morning had laid waste the land 
and we ride out to see it 
hands in our pockets 
blood on our teeth 

it's said we dream of that dark beneath 
and the tomes in which we wrote  
all the tributaries of our bodies 

though it be a lie 
tis safer to say we die 
and the Phoenix covered sky is ours 
our namesake 
to cover our flags and coins 

I walk dead  
and take the coins off of my face 
dreaming of my name I can see in the sky 
the portal from which we were taken


—Robin Dunn