Say When
Kevin Young
Some days there is nothing
of the blues
I can use
so I put down
my pen & walk instead
humming "Memories
of You" by Louie
Armstrong—
it won't be long
before I have forgotten
the words, and soon
enough the words
will have gone
& forgotten me—
the silence we all meet.
I guess at God—
the road twisting east
or south toward
the quarries,
fading light.
My body rejecting
my own heart.
Trees touching
above the buildings.
I want to raise
my face
to the blackboard sky—
forgetting how hard
it is for me
not to believe—
& scrawl my name
on a slate
no hand can erase.
of the blues
I can use
so I put down
my pen & walk instead
humming "Memories
of You" by Louie
Armstrong—
it won't be long
before I have forgotten
the words, and soon
enough the words
will have gone
& forgotten me—
the silence we all meet.
I guess at God—
the road twisting east
or south toward
the quarries,
fading light.
My body rejecting
my own heart.
Trees touching
above the buildings.
I want to raise
my face
to the blackboard sky—
forgetting how hard
it is for me
not to believe—
& scrawl my name
on a slate
no hand can erase.
