him
Like a young lion trying out its roar
At the far edge of the den
The roar inside him was even louder
Like a bolt of lightning in the fog
Like a bolt of lightning over the sea
Like a bolt of lightning in our backyard
Like the time I opened the furnace
In the factory at night
And the flames came blasting out
I was unprepared for the intensity
Of the heat escaping
As if I’d unsheathed the sun
Like a crazed fly the daredevil monarch
Like a bee exploding from its hive
Like a bird ricocheting off the window
Like a small car zooming too fast
On a two-lane highway at night
His friends thought they would die
Like the war cry of an injured crane
Falling into the sea
I did not see it hit the waves
Like the stray fury of a bullet
Splintering against a skull
The soldier looked surprised
He did not move when they touched him
Like a bolt of lightning flooded with darkness
After it strikes the sea
Ben Jonson was off in the country
Visiting a friend’s estate
When he had a vision
Of his eldest son Benjamin
Who appeared to him with the mark
Of a bloody cross on his forehead
As if it had been cut with a sword
Jonson was so amazed
By the apparition that he prayed
Unto God it was but a fantasy
His friends assured him
It was a fevered dream
It was no dream
The letter came from his wife
Announcing their seven-year-old son
Had died of the Pest
Ravaging London in 1603
Why had the father escaped
That night Jonson’s son appeared
To him again in a dream
This time the child of his right hand
Had grown into the shape of a man
The one he would become
On the Day of Resurrection
Jonson wrote a poem and called his son
His best piece of poetrie
A lovely line a little loathsome
I loved that poem once
He said we are lent our sons never take
Too much pleasure in what you love
Why go over seven years of fertility
Doctors medicine men in clinics
Peddling surgeries and drugs
Why go over seven years of treatments
That never engendered a child
Janet and I adopted him
It took another twelve months
Of social workers and lawyers
Home studies and courtrooms
Passports and interlocutory orders
Injunctions jurisdictions handshakes
Everyone standing around in suits
Saying
yes we think so yes
What was for others nature
Was for us culture
We traveled from Rome to New Orleans
It took twenty-three hours
Of anguish and airplanes
Instructions in two languages
Music from cream-colored headsets
Jet lag instead of labor
On the other end a rainbow
Of streamers in the French Quarter
A celebration in Jackson Square
We stayed in an empty bungalow
And waited all night
By the bay-shaped window
For the moment when our lawyer
Collected him from the hospital
And brought him to us
It was inscribed
In the Book of Life
And the court of law
It was signed in a neighboring parish
And written in black ink
It was sealed in blood
After five days and nights
On this earth our lawyer
Took him from the arms of a nurse
Strapped him into an infant seat
And delivered him
Into our keeping
A wrinkled traveler
From faraway who had journeyed
A great distance to find us
A sweet aboriginal angel
With his own life a throbbing bundle
Of instincts and nerves
Perfect fingers perfect toes
Shiny skin blue soulful eyes
Deeply set in a perfectly shaped head
He was a trumpet of laughter
And tears who did not sleep
Through the night even once
O little swimmer in the deeps
Raise up your arms
Ring out your lungs
O wailing messenger
O baleful full-bodied crier
Of the abandoned and the chosen
He dropped out of the sky
Into the infirmary in the Garden District
At nine pounds two ounces
When he was eight days old
We carried him into family court
In a plastic molded seat with a handle
After he settled our case with a special order
The judge an amateur photographer
Snapped pictures of us in the witness stand
We propped him up in the middle
Of the table in a Chinese restaurant
And rotated him this
Like a young lion trying out its roar
At the far edge of the den
The roar inside him was even louder
Like a bolt of lightning in the fog
Like a bolt of lightning over the sea
Like a bolt of lightning in our backyard
Like the time I opened the furnace
In the factory at night
And the flames came blasting out
I was unprepared for the intensity
Of the heat escaping
As if I’d unsheathed the sun
Like a crazed fly the daredevil monarch
Like a bee exploding from its hive
Like a bird ricocheting off the window
Like a small car zooming too fast
On a two-lane highway at night
His friends thought they would die
Like the war cry of an injured crane
Falling into the sea
I did not see it hit the waves
Like the stray fury of a bullet
Splintering against a skull
The soldier looked surprised
He did not move when they touched him
Like a bolt of lightning flooded with darkness
After it strikes the sea
Ben Jonson was off in the country
Visiting a friend’s estate
When he had a vision
Of his eldest son Benjamin
Who appeared to him with the mark
Of a bloody cross on his forehead
As if it had been cut with a sword
Jonson was so amazed
By the apparition that he prayed
Unto God it was but a fantasy
His friends assured him
It was a fevered dream
It was no dream
The letter came from his wife
Announcing their seven-year-old son
Had died of the Pest
Ravaging London in 1603
Why had the father escaped
That night Jonson’s son appeared
To him again in a dream
This time the child of his right hand
Had grown into the shape of a man
The one he would become
On the Day of Resurrection
Jonson wrote a poem and called his son
His best piece of poetrie
A lovely line a little loathsome
I loved that poem once
He said we are lent our sons never take
Too much pleasure in what you love
Why go over seven years of fertility
Doctors medicine men in clinics
Peddling surgeries and drugs
Why go over seven years of treatments
That never engendered a child
Janet and I adopted him
It took another twelve months
Of social workers and lawyers
Home studies and courtrooms
Passports and interlocutory orders
Injunctions jurisdictions handshakes
Everyone standing around in suits
Saying
yes we think so yes
What was for others nature
Was for us culture
We traveled from Rome to New Orleans
It took twenty-three hours
Of anguish and airplanes
Instructions in two languages
Music from cream-colored headsets
Jet lag instead of labor
On the other end a rainbow
Of streamers in the French Quarter
A celebration in Jackson Square
We stayed in an empty bungalow
And waited all night
By the bay-shaped window
For the moment when our lawyer
Collected him from the hospital
And brought him to us
It was inscribed
In the Book of Life
And the court of law
It was signed in a neighboring parish
And written in black ink
It was sealed in blood
After five days and nights
On this earth our lawyer
Took him from the arms of a nurse
Strapped him into an infant seat
And delivered him
Into our keeping
A wrinkled traveler
From faraway who had journeyed
A great distance to find us
A sweet aboriginal angel
With his own life a throbbing bundle
Of instincts and nerves
Perfect fingers perfect toes
Shiny skin blue soulful eyes
Deeply set in a perfectly shaped head
He was a trumpet of laughter
And tears who did not sleep
Through the night even once
O little swimmer in the deeps
Raise up your arms
Ring out your lungs
O wailing messenger
O baleful full-bodied crier
Of the abandoned and the chosen
He dropped out of the sky
Into the infirmary in the Garden District
At nine pounds two ounces
When he was eight days old
We carried him into family court
In a plastic molded seat with a handle
After he settled our case with a special order
The judge an amateur photographer
Snapped pictures of us in the witness stand
We propped him up in the middle
Of the table in a Chinese restaurant
And rotated him this
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