Something Has to Happen Next Read online

  something has to happen next

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  winner of the iowa poetry prize

  andrew michael roberts

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  something

  has to happen

  next

  university of iowa press, iowa city

  University of Iowa Press, Iowa City 52242

  Copyright © 2009 by Andrew Michael Roberts www.uiowapress.org

  Printed in the United States of America Design by Richard Hendel

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. All reasonable steps have been taken to contact copyright holders of material used in this book. The publisher would be pleased to make suitable arrangements with any whom it has not been possible to reach. This is a work of poetry; any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental.

  The University of Iowa Press is a member of Green Press Initiative and is committed to preserving natural resources.

  Printed on acid-free paper

  isbn-13: 978-1-58729-794-6

  isbn-10: 1-58729-794-9

  lccn: 2008935530

  09 10 11 12 13 p

  5 4 3 2 1

  for jackie hanzal

  contents

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  1. dear wild abandon,

  dear wild abandon, 3

  we are not birds 4

  explain yourself 5

  among the beautiful illusions 6

  poem written on the mirror of her skin 7

  dear man on fire, 8

  tragic figure in a rearview 9

  the moon 10

  what i know of the moon 11

  strip mall 12

  birds of paradise 13

  before sleep takes us 14

  swallows built their nest around it 15

  when we were giant 16

  again i strike your window in full flight 17

  dear artificial heart, 18

  pledge of allegiance 19

  the face of jesus in my bite bruise 20

  laundromat at the end of the world 21

  dear special theory of relativity, 22

  you can hear it through the cumulative heartbeats 23

  you never touched me 24

  they molt in hopes of airier plumage 25

  dear quark, 26

  prove you wrong 27

  the end 28

  dear catastrophe, 29

  2. something has to happen next

  rehearsal 33

  this or something like it 34

  a cyclist passes with a cello on his back 35

  lamb 36

  the story of my beard 37

  other people’s machines 38

  winter museum 39

  what we know 40

  the moments before the crash landing are clearest 41

  serendipity 42

  safe shower 43

  stalactite 44

  somewhere a buried bone awaits 45

  for the dispossessed 46

  in the night of the womb the spirit quickens into flesh 47

  coyotes 48

  chosen 49

  world, 50

  levitator’s apprentice 51

  man of the year 52

  california 53

  if nothing else 54

  listen 55

  i’ll pack a pretty shirt 56

  acknowledgments

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Grateful acknowledgment to the following journals in which some poems in this collection originally appeared: “lamb” in Burnside Review; “california” in Cincinnati Review; “the story of my beard” in Colorado Review; “somewhere a buried bone awaits”

  in Fugue.

  Some of the poems in this collection appeared in the chapbook Dear Wild Abandon, published by the Poetry Society of America in 2008.

  The line “in the night of the womb the spirit quickens into flesh” is borrowed from John G. Neihardt’s Black Elk Speaks.

  Thanks to the following people whose support helped greatly in the creation of this book: Dara Wier, James Tate, Amy Dickinson, Tony Wolk, Carol Franks, Dani Blackman, Andre Kahlil, Jeannie Hoag, Emily Renaud, Peggy Woods, Phil Moll, Chuck Boyer, Brent Goeres, Tim Roberts, Mike and Celia Roberts, and Jackie Hanzal.

  dear wild abandon,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  1

  dear wild abandon,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  you little

  time

  bomb.

  i’ve crept close and touched you in your pregnant sleep

  with the flame

  of my tongue.

  if i bite

  and swallow, would you

  explode in me?

  3

  we are not birds

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  this beautiful speed will be the end of us.

  those are stars in our teeth.

  4

  explain yourself

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  my life was like this when i found it.

  so i walked with it the entire way.

  the chickens followed, they are not mine.

  5

  among the beautiful illusions

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i found you feathered at the small of the back among honeycomb and thunderstorms.

  you blinked, and a galaxy

  spun to life.

  you’d caught a comet

  that blazed from your beak

  at the end of its mad tail.

  6

  poem written on the mirror of her skin

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  each illuminated breath

  is the moon

  slipping inside itself.

  7

  dear man on fire,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  you beautiful

  waste.

  don’t die out,

  don’t go too soon

  to dark smoke like arms

  flung over the city’s

  face,

  wretched home

  to all our eyes.

  8

  tragic figure in a rearview

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  took a hammer

  to my windshield.

  now a cobweb

  sprawls between the future

  and me.

  it’s gorgeous,

  its translucence,

  the prismal sun

  I don’t

  deserve.

  9

  the moon

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  all the other moons

  get their own names.

  10

  what i know of the moon

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i am only half myself.

  the other side’s

  a dark idea

  i like to believe in.

  11

  strip mall

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  we stop to watch

  seagulls swarm

  the Burger King.

  12

  birds of paradise

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  across the desert we kissed

  and dreamt one-legged of islands.

  we were not yet home,

  a sea of buffaloes

  carried us on its back.

  13

  before sleep takes us

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i memorize my life

  so it’s still there

  when i arrive again

  in the morning.

  14

  swallows built their nest around it

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  she slings it

  on a limb,

  climbs up to

  sew tiny lights

  inside.

  the pulse,

  the half-moon behind it.

  you can smell

  the coming

  snow.

  15

  when we were giant

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  in time we grew

  tall enough

  to hear

  the lost tiny geese honk

  to be let out

  of the atmosphere.

  16

  again i strike your window in full flight

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i’ve dreamt of fingers

  and their intricate instruments, someone to carry me

  room to room

  while i sing.

  17

  dear artificial heart,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  at the silent edge

  of sleep i hear

  your perfect plastic

  gaskets clap and know

  i’m more

  than half alive.

  my blood a little lost

  in your strange rooms,

  this empty house

  too much for me.

  the moon out there like ice,

  a warning hung

  above the artificial

  earth.

  18

  pledge of allegiance

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i have a wig i do not wear.

  it is the shape of my country at night and mewls for me to lift it

  from its cold hook.

  19

  the face of jesus in my bite bruise

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  your holy teeth singing

  the life story of my skin.

  and the stars,

  the broken ones that let go

  and fell through the ceiling

  of my eyes.

  20

  laundromat at the end of the world

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  you can feel

  the gravity growing.

  the washers shake their chains

  and squeal.

  something in me

  says that man’s

  got a gun in his coat.

  he’s ready

  when the storm

  throws open the door

  and shoots its hail in

  sideways to make way

  for the moon

  crashing down.

  21

  dear special theory of relativity,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  please accept our sincere apologies.

  nothing’s relative since you’ve been gone, the sunbeams halted

  halfway down the sky,

  the long train of cars dead

  in the street, blurry from the rush of trees racing past

  on their way to work.

  22

  you can hear it through the cumulative heartbeats

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  you, and a skyful of swallows

  schooling like fish.

  then the planets’ heavy whir

  through space.

  23

  you never touched me

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  you’ve seen me in the chickencoop feeling for eggs. not the eggs,

  but the warm bellies, the sharp

  protective pecks at the bones of my hands.

  24

  they molt in hopes of airier plumage

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  was it me running nude

  in the woods of my youth

  who gave birds

  their crazy dream?

  25

  dear quark,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  now i know you,

  i see you

  everywhere

  as if you’ve jumped

  the long green train

  of my eye,

  little tramp.

  26

  prove you wrong

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  i’m doing two-knuckle push-ups

  in the driveway.

  there’s a black shape of me

  where it hasn’t yet snowed.

  27

  the end

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  it was the end of something,

  and so we grew sad

  according to how much we’d loved it.

  now, nothing

  but our great variety of sadnesses and for some

  a seed of instinct suggesting

  something else

  may eventually begin.

  28

  dear catastrophe,

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  the answer: we were not

  thinking anything.

  we might have known you

  by the wind’s lying down

  like shadows beside us,

  by the static and the starlings’ dead silence.

  29

  something has to happen next

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  2
/>
  rehearsal

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  here is a sparrow bone to stand in for me.

  carry it like the look you gave

  when you wanted me unclothed

  in meadows under the meteorites.

  when your feverish hips kept winter at bay with the skinny trees at the far dark edge.

  take me in a finger’s sweep. tie me with hair and watch the knots

  unwind. there is a trick to everything.

  sometimes you have to put it to your tongue to know it from its deep desire.

  my question is when

  am i perfect, and will you

  be looking the other way.

  33

  this or something like it

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  here is the sound of the heel

  of a hammer and the sea

  escaping an oyster shell.

  someone’s standing on the shoulders of barnacles to smash a lovely

  life. sometimes you know

  exactly what to do.

  between strikes a silence settles in.

  down the reach, a pregnant dog

  lies down in the surf.

  dark islands in the distance,

  two crows smug in a dead fir tree.

  this stone in your hand’s

  the size of their skulls.

  you can feel your lungs and know you’re alive. something

  has to happen next. with its stare the half moon draws the sea

  like a lover and makes you

  seem as small as you are.

  34

  a cyclist passes with a cello on his back

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  we bring our birds

  to cafés in toy cages.

  a few crumbs tossed in

  among the husks while we sit.

  they do all the talking.

  when we go we always leave

  a sip of tea in the cup.