CHRISTOPHER WELLS
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A SERMON ON AMEN
My amen should be every amen
and still it stops with only this: Amen.
Yet sighing even these few, may
they be among the best: that amen
by which an amen or amen
is uttered written in the margins
with every other amen, of the nuns,
of the priests, of the farmers,
of the beggars, of the bums,
of the pimps who complain in amens,
of the neckties, of the copy machines,
all mundane and holy workers
and families from heavy equipment
to whales to bacteria and
all is Amen. Each amen only craves
that someone is behind it to accord
His Amen, to be Amen in our amen.
But just as amen is said, slighted
to be muttered it runs,
was meaning
"loved."
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OBSERVATIONS AT THE LAKE
The sun is naturally toxic much
like the lake and its children.
They replace their care with fresh towels.
They reduce it with gentle sunscreen.
Putting your finger in the lake, then
on your heart will only
contaminate it.
Reality ruthless, unfiltered
is an alewife reclining in stench
as the children are flipped to the waves
so the mothers can gossip with sand.
Everything goes on like so until
sunset, then they
shower and sleep.
Others prefer something ammonia-based
ridding life
of its natural scents.
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DEATH OF THE BIRDKEEPER
All the birds, the cockatoos, the parrots drew back
their heads and the tips of their thick tongues.
They observed me slacken too long. I was guilty and sick
so they left for nectar or seed. But a voice sweetly asked
if I needed any psittacidae to continue.
A blue-bellied lorikeet, I replied.
The Phoenix answered, Thus may you be.
I, the ungrateful, unkind, a rainbow lory?
I can look on you no further.
Truth. Appearance. Let me marry them. Let my ghost
go whenever it deserves. Do I not know
who bears the blame? My body. Then let me die.
You must first sit up, said the Phoenix,
and taste my wing. And I did eat.
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CLEAR NIGHT (WISH FULFILLMENT)
Black, what petals
white seen only
traversing
multiple lights
white, yellow
between bodies
by snakes lurking black
a dark purple
a double helix
around, circling
amid petals
rest, go
become debris
upon a high
beauty stretched
lying cold and
undressed
uncertain.
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WHEN DECEMBER BROKE OUT IN FIRE
The space heater was sleeping
with the upstairs extension cord
when December broke out in fire.
Her body could not find her
when she ran up to the infant.
She eventually ran out of what remained,
overcome by two other children,
burned up on the inside.
But the smoke survived.
The old house of the mother
was never found. They concluded
it had been divided into two stories.
The official family is listed
as an overheated bedroom
attached to a baby.
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DEWY SUNRISE
Cold tires
on a morning of
cracked asphalt.
Aghast
will quietly
resigned
trying to
tell radio from
road noise,
a struggle
tattered by
unyielding logic.
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TOYBOX
In a box of broken marbles,
lost dolls,
rotten shoes,
forgotten socks,
worn-out youth and life
done with you
have rifled through
along with
every package
cranny
corner
of the attic
you did not find
it. It is still missing.
You will never give up.
You will never
find it.
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FOR LORI
You are not a
boring chore,
lint rag,
boiled oil
or a stale roll.
You are more like
a shoreline or
many-colored
ink, but both
gorgeous and alive.