The Man on the Roadside

looked at me, cocked
two fingers like a pistol,
gently pressed them into my sternum
and said:

"There is a place
in there, untouched by space and time
where you are

solid as an onion,
packed with buried beauty, with translucence
born of darkness, where you are

quiet as a chapel empty of all echo."

º

"Okay, cool," I said. "I'll keep that in mind."

º

But he was not finished:

"Know that the moment will come
when your words speak

only of what you know. That
is the moment you begin to die.

And when that time comes, go
to the chapel, that inner room that holds
those silences,
and listen
to those empty syllables that sound

the hushed depths
of the white-capped sea

you once mistook for your life."

º

"Got it," I say.

And I place one careful
hand against the muzzle
of his hand-
gun that is
not a gun

and I lift it away, and his fingers
unclutch and

bloom
into a pale and grasping flower.

 
Michael Bazzett

Michael Bazzett is the author of four books of poetry, including The Echo Chamber (Milkweed Editions, 2021), and the chapbook The Temple (Bull City, 2020). Recent work has appeared in Granta, Agni, The American Poetry Review, The Sun, The Nation, and The Paris Review, and his verse translation of the Mayan creation epic, The Popol Vuh, (Milkweed, 2018) was named one of 2018’s best books of poetry by the NY Times. The recipient of an NEA Fellowship, he lives in Minneapolis.

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