Tuesday poem #101 : Barbara Henning : A BEDOUIN MAN

A Bedouin man isn't certain

whether joining a revolt was

life's proudest moment or its

ruination.  The object in your

pocket is a tracking device

that just happens to make calls.

Just perch the clock near the bed

and put your phone on the stand

and it will record your sleep

patterns. Hello. Good night.

The days are going so quickly.

Perhaps we perceive quickness

more in our busy lives than

people did in previous centuries.

Yesterday, Americans used

their sizable advantage to run

others ragged. We lay the child

down into his bed and find

each other under the sheet.

Now with four arms, four legs

and two heads, we circulate qi.

Then the arm starts turning

sideways in a gentle curve, tracing

an S shape, the thumb heading

up as the palm turns parallel,

our bodies and souls parallel.

Oh, the grief of separation.

Don't think, dear, stay here.

Barbara Henning [photo credit: Michah Saperstein] is the author of three novels and nine collections of poetry. Her, most recent books of poetry are A Swift Passage (Quale Press), Cities and Memory (Chax Press) and a collection of object-sonnets, My Autobiography (United Artists). A DAY LIKE TODAY is forthcoming from Negative Capability Press.  She lives and teaches in New York City for Naropa and Long Island University where she is Professor Emerita.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan