Call the best
When you both meet on the hill under the tree with a thousand leaves
Let him touch your thighs and kiss your belly
Have him enter your soul first
Let him trace with his finger the nerve that goes from your right ear
To the back of your neck to your back to your tailbone
Let him adore you
Let him pray with his hips and his lips for the goddess inside you
And from the throne on which he’ll place you
From the top of the kingdom he builds with his sweat to seat you
From the tip of his sex and the pinnacle of the love he spreads inside you
Shout to the universe
Summon the gods abiding
Call the best
Call the one who will seize the crown of the dark king who ruled us this far
Call the guest
Let him him in and through you into the world awaiting
Call the rest
Let them know the prince came here from a star
Tell them the queen has given back to the world what she ate
Tell them he clutches his little hands
Because between them rests a thread of meaning
He’ll only unfold when the time comes
And if you see them worry then
Tell them meaning is nothing but another word for wealth and health
Tell them the smile he sports is but the ruse his wisdom takes
His laugh the submission his honor fakes
If they’re concerned he’s too good
Tell them goodness is another word for the fire that burns the mountains
My mother asked me on Wednesday: “Son, I don’t want to bother you with this question”. I insisted she did, like a father reminding a grown up son there were no more boundaries to the conversations they could have now. So with a childish voice, as if apologizing for something wrong she thought she shouldn’t do, she asked: “If some people speak badly of me in front of you, would you, you know… defend me? Or would you just ask why they’re saying these things?”.
I call my mother once or twice a week and the connection is choppy if I don’t make it before 6am PDT. After 6am PDT, she’s home and the connection is far worse than in the office where she works. Today I called before 6am.
Mother
If people speak badly of you I might burn the stars they use as compasses
I might let my wolves take their dearest animals’ lives away
I might make the forests that surround their villages howl in terror
I might paint their hopes red and their dreams black
But I am the one you called
And you called the best
You called the best
And he is good and he is kind and he is nice
The smile he sports is not the ruse his wisdom takes
His laugh no submission his honor fakes
You called the best
The one whose hands are clutched for fear the meaning unfolds too soon
The one who smiles and laughs because the wind
Slips through the rifts of his blue vest and slides down his belly
Mother
Your prince is a cheer for the world to enjoy
And though he has no army to deploy
You are safer than you think
No boat you’re on will sink
No wolf will snatch your skin
No man will touch your head
The prince of the hill under the tree with a thousand leaves is here
and his body is a pier
Where the kids can run and fall and get up to fall again
But where waves land to die
Your prince — This pier — is stone and concrete
He is the solid chest of this kingdom and no dark king will ever coast
Let him be sweet
You called the best
