David
we wait in an arc with flashlights
shivering
beams
tremble in the dark
we walk the fields
fan out over the hills to the next farm
down the slope to the fallow orchard
down the dirt driveway to the road
David David we call
the dogs roam too
tense with the mission
barks and whines and
the sounds of our boots
through half-frozen weeds
this is what the mind does
I drop my flashlight
the moon useless tonight
reflecting nothing
a bed of embers
in the wire basket where
the family burns trash
the searchers like fireflies
in the distance
there’s a madness to this
I don’t want to find him—
sick with suspense
the red embers
the lights
twitching on the hills
I feel a brush against my coat
I can’t see what isn’t there
my coat hem lifts
a tug—
what circles me
moves air
an exhale
could be wind
whatever it is
presses me
this insistence
*
every baby wears a name too big—
his the mighty David
like our father
like the king of the tribes of Israel
many wives concubines descendants
he will father no one
the air stirs
the tug on my sleeve
unmistakable this time
a whisper
chase me
all right I’ll play
I’ll run after you
past the glowing burn cage
I’ll chase the idea of a boy
through a flicker of sparks
along the fence-line
one more race
before the last who knew you
are gone
*
get over it
my aunt says
her professional opinion—
all of us
need to move on
an emergency room nurse
she scales death
and I get it
one small death
happened long ago
I agree get over it and yet
from way up the driveway
they heard his body hit
a sound I heard too
though I was nowhere near
and then he was
what
projection conjecture
his absence the fact
we can’t help bumping into
*
what if he had a reprieve
another lifetime
another eight years
auburn hair in his eyes
muscled an athlete
pockets bulging
with all we’d given him—
keys folding money
the watch he got
the day of his first communion
say he still has that watch
its face un-shattered
say it tells us
he has time
I’d sit on the split-rail fence
the sketch of a fence
as he tosses a ball to the sky
and swings the bat out
one-handed pepper
into the fields
endless bucket of baseballs
crack
a defiant crack
crack
over and over
startling
imaginary birds
in the wild orchard
—Marilyn A. Johnson
***
