American Isolate

“Snake venom is used to cure snakebites!”
—Tehching Hsieh

First. Note the pattern of all growing things.
Each has an elegant unconsciousness
calling that being to forget itself,
preparing for the headlong gamble game
that blooms good shouts, sprouts clumped pubescent hair.
We laugh as voices crack; we jangle mirrors.
Next. Speculate upon the lacking thing
that binds our adolescent culture’s roots.
What is the chain that cannot let us dance,
even when rondels beckon our lean thighs?
Where does it hurt? We point to everywhere.
Alone’s a verb; we stamp the toes of joy.
Last. I have noted in some wild things
a confusing propensity to die.
Strong beetles levering off their carapace,
crows that slam windows repeatedly.
The worm that leaves damp soil for dry sand.
They’re trying everything. Like you. Like me.

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This poem also appears in the November 2023 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 88, No.11, page 8). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.