Step 4: Draft
You are the reason shoes stick to concrete,
even a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty,
components of pigments, oils, waxes, and preservatives.
Falling to the trends of Cosmopolitan,
drinking pink panty pull down,
you are the reason men liquefy
in one of three forms—liquid, cake, or cream.
You fake Egyptians and Victorian,
like the way things are out in this world,
where most things disappear, driven into ground,
you are ground.
You are the reason bacteria regulates,
collecting skin of human dust
eyeing soot, sexing ash, and nylon.
You loosely concern me as you are manufactured,
preserved in a tube, packaged in plastic
and mailed to a woman named Beth
because sluts don't have names.
Step Three: Cut
You are the reason shoes stick to concrete,
collecting skin of human dust.
skin dries
holds more than it meets.
Even a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty,
like the way things are out in this world,
where most things disappear,
driven into ground, you are ground
Drunken deacon, ate the sausage’s cooked by my half-brother,
he meant to use for jambalaya’s baby mama recipe.
, we use to Sundays picking apples of the orchard.
Step Two: Fill In
You are the chewing gum of God.
You are the reason shoes stick to concrete, collecting skin of human dust.
I know that skin dries to the Fall and rise to air ducts, it is only that, that holds
more than it meets. The heart of you is something I don’t quite get but don’t want to. Even
a fool like me can see you’re broken beauty, like the way things are out in this world, where most things disappear, driven into ground, you are ground already, & like rice you rise.
Drunken deacon, ate the sausage’s cooked by my half-brother, he meant to use for jambalaya’s baby mama recipe. You bring me back to the beginning, to where things live again for me and my father. Like a Homemade saviour, you fed me the day my father sat under flowers white as the gloves of pallbearers tossed on his bier. Soon, hands will lower him into ground richer than even you.
For now, root of all remembrance, your thick chain sets me spinning, thinking of how, we use to Sundays picking apples of the orchard. Like the small, perfect, possible, silent soul you spill out like music, my daddy dead, or grief, or both—afterward his sisters my aunts dancing in the yard to a car radio tuned to zydeco beneath the pecan trees.
ORIGINAL: Read for Step One
Ode to Boudin
You are the chewing gum of God.
You are the reason
I know that skin
is only that, holds
more than it meets.
The heart of you is something
I don’t quite get
but don’t want to. Even
a fool like me can see
your broken
beauty, the way
out in this world where most
things disappear, driven
into ground, you are ground
already, & like rice
you rise. Drunken deacon,
sausage’s half-brother,
jambalaya’s baby mama,
you bring me back
to the beginning, to where things live
again. Homemade saviour,
you fed me the day
my father sat under flowers
white as the gloves of pallbearers
tossed on his bier.
Soon, hands will lower him
into ground richer
than even you.
For now, root of all
remembrance, your thick chain
sets me spinning, thinking
of how, like the small,
perfect, possible, silent soul
you spill out
like music, my daddy
dead, or grief,
or both—afterward his sisters
my aunts dancing
in the yard to a car radio
tuned to zydeco
beneath the pecan trees.
Kevin Young
from Dear Darkness: Poems. New York: Knopf, 2008.
