james obannon / two poems

Memory Exercise: Recall a Time

1. (Recall a time)

   in which the wonder of your body sparked fire danced on the dry wood of the world like

   it was all meant to fall ablaze and isn’t it just like you to dream so wildly isn’t your breath

   a canister for a million apologies falling like cicada shells to a rain starved soil there is

   nothing left of you to be sold as offering nothing left of you to be claimed and yet here

   you spun web of a body waiting to dissolve waiting to be remade Recall a time where the

   music of  repetition soothed you Recall a time where the animal inside spoke.

2. (Recall a time)

   in which the violence of your body softened spilled onto the hardwood of a quiet year the

   way your favorite Spalding might the way all good things have that collapse to them and

   you never question the echo your steps create when your body is so full of breath and

   what if there is no answer to the question of what happens when what kills you is the long

   ache of the brainstem where do you lie when everywhere you touch is a séance Recall a

   time where you sat in this settling Recall a time where you remembered your name. 

3. (Recall a time)

   In which the ali(weight)ve of your body was ali(drawn)ve with all the ali(color)ve it ali(deserves)ves

   you ali(dance)ve down the ali(street)ve and are ali(lavender)ve you are ali(comfortable)ve in your

   ali(scarletts)veness and it can be so aliv(freeing)ing to be ali(alone)ve with all this ali(laughter)ve all

   around you the ali(birds)ves are ali(whole)ve the ali(trees)ves too you ali(breathe)ve with so much

   ali(space)ve in your ali(body)ve you are ali(here)ve after all no ali(death)ve in your ali(walk)ve and

   nothing to ali(remove)ve you from being ali(present)ve the ali(rain)ve in your ali(hand)ve ali(steadies)ves

   you Ali(Recall)ve a ali(time)ve where you ali(recalled)ved this clearly Ali(Recall)ve a ali(time)ve where

   you ali(heard)ved your ali(voice)ve and it was ali(alive)ve

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Memory Exercise: Name It

1. There is a silence in the sky a break in the sky a green beetle (name it) ash borer in

   the sky an ash borer inside dead tree in the sky dead tree in the sky (name it)

   dead ash tree in the sky muted relief in the sky whispered gaze in the sky

   the sky could be alive and sleeping the sky is a fresh pair of eyes

   the sky has seen the dead of a tree (name it) the dead of an ash tree the sky

   has see the dead of an ash tree hollowed out by green beetles (name it) hollowed out by

   ash borers the sky is an ash borer when it wants to be the sk y peers

   into dead ash trees when it wants to the sky eats all the trees when it wants to

   leaves them without a prayer.

2. The inside of a dead tree (name it) dead ash tree is silent there is a yearning

   inside a dead ash tree an ash tree dead inside earth a green beetle (name

   it) ash borer inside a dead ash tree inside a dead earth there is an ash tree inside a

   dead ash borer inside a dead earth inside a dead everything (name it) dead

   ash tree dead ash borer dead ash white memory nothing is alive inside a dead ash tree

   a green beetle (name it) ash borer reaches up toward a silent dead tree (name it)

   dead ash tree and asks for a mouthful a dead ash tree is nourishment when

   it is made to be a dead ash tree is used and reused as home when it is made to be

   a dead ash tree melts into the summer air evaporates from memory.

   
   

3. A green beetle (name it) ash borer is silent as it simmers in summer heat inside dead tree

   (name it) dead ash tree and everything is a dead tree (name it) sorry – dead ash tree and

   everything has glued itself to the ground as a silent exhale for permission (name it) a

   silent plea for life (name it) a silent grasp at memory and an emerald ash borer gnaws at

   the cords of a dead tree (name it) a dead ash tree (name it) a broken memory and seeks to

   bury it deep in the gut and seeks to swallow every face it has ever recalled and seeks to sit

   so still as this scorched air (name it) singed sadness (name it) future grief passes and  an

   emerald ash borer chews on the sinews of memory asks them to die a peaceful death asks

   them not to claw back up.

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James O’Bannon (He/Him) is a Black writer, born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio. He holds a BA in English from Northern Kentucky University, an MFA in poetry from Fresno State University, and is a Tin House Winter Workshop Alumnus. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Waxwing, Mid-American Review, Triquarterly, and elsewhere. His work argues with itself about grief and the ways we sit with it.