Aptitude Test

Describe how it felt, not [desert type] [mountain type]

Describe a miracle [tablets] [range] pileup on Interstate 94

Describe [going straight to voicemail] the parking meter nested with

hummingbirds

Describe whose face in a shark costume [wearing a baby shark costume

underneath] grand [all day with sparklers] at the interview

Describe but don’t mention a sleep study

Describe your five best [personality]

Describe in alphabetical order [skill set] [say, if the predator looks at

you but doesn’t attack] confidence may be called for [if, in the not-not-

looking, failure might be imminent]

Describe [when the bear lunges] don’t just stand there, honey

Describe success [straight-up-a-tree-gone] expect our call within four-

five business days

Describe [locomotion] [debt, pod] irreparable [union] [living wage, it’s not]

Describe boding [cerebrum] [thought-journey] [at the end] a blank screen

Describe how often you save your work [can you take a short survey]

Describe the bear whose forest became a torch one summer [take the

survey]

Describe the gale

Describe lines running for water [skills or all you need at the end of this

world]

Yesterday in my notes shells were arranged in pleasant order

Teacup and saucer filled with baby’s

breath, pink roses, lily of the valley.

Wheels of fortune turned east. Iris

patchouli bundled in plastic bags.

Decay fell to one side; twice I’ve been

asked about a rally on Main, if I saw

my students there, if I wanted to stay

with this job, pokeweed, Prices Fork

Road, the fall semester, wintermester,

emails reminding all staff and faculty

to remain alert, but for what, I prepare

my lessons on dying. Today an

ambulance was bombed, not in this

town; syntax, nothing to throw but

ourselves. F was in my dream last

night giving birth. Who was her child

alert to disorder and order? In this

galaxy, we were all wiped out.

Prologue: A Call to Action

Treachery is certainly not the only

path to self-determination, though one

line of thought about a people’s right

to live and die with dignity counters

annihilation.

The war machine is, and always will

be, against treason. Remember that.

One line of thought is certainly not

enough to stop a combat vehicle of

any size. Remember who you saw in

the open, in 1989, waving at the tanks

to stop.

If a poem could lie down, that would

be enough. If I could die for your

people’s right to dream, may that

never be enough.

The sky records all wars as singular

governance. Traitors of that state have

been named among us planting soft

prayers in the earth, raising their

babies, calling for peace. What do I

believe?

If earth records even the smallest of

hopes, earth betrays no one as I betray

the earth. There is no logic in naming

such horror.

The war machine cannot dream. It

blocks every poem, carries on down

the road to every field, the same field

for millennia.

At first, the poem wore a white shirt

and carried, what appeared to be,

nothing.

Then, the poem decided to take action.

The poem hurried out into the street.

For years, the poem remained

nameless. We only saw the back of its

head, the white shirt and dark

trousers, how the poem gestured

STOP, a period at the end of a line

bringing oblivion.

Go to that period, to every line you can

with that sign. The poem will fail in

many ways. Still, our world is made of

singing.