Poem of the Week, by Brynn Saito

Poem of the Week, by Jeffrey Harrison Poem of the Week, by Martin Espada

Poem of the Week, by Brynn Saito

Trembling on the Brink of a Mesquite Tree

- Brynn Saito

And the Lord said Surprise me, so I moved to LA.

After packing my posters and scrubbing the bathroom and bidding goodbye

to the permanent circus, I drove through The South

with its womb-like weather, and I drove through the center

with its cross-hatched streams, and the century unspooled

like a wide, white road with lines for new writing

and the century unspooled like a spider’s insides

and the country was a cipher, so I voted my conscience.

And the country was a carton of twelve rotten eggs.

And the country was a savior—come deliver us from evil!—

and my car burned a scar across the back of an angel

and yes, I was afraid. No I’ve never gone hungry, but I’ve woken alone

with a ghost in my throat and I’ve been like the child

who’s sure she perceives some creature in the dark—

some night-breathing thing—and I know there is something I can almost see …

But the future’s a bright coin spinning in sunlight

so fast that it’s sparking a flame in the grass, and who knows

where they’ll find me—on which sunken highway?—so I’m writing this poem

to remember my name. And I’m writing this poem

to let something go, in the mode of surrender, since God

needs a ritual, like kissing needs another, or a knife needs the softness

of a melon in summer, and leaving New York is like leaving

the circus, and entering America is like entering a fortress,

flooded by soda and we float to the bars in our giggling terror

and driving from one shore across to another?

That’s one sign for freedom, one small stab at change,

so when the Lord said Surprise me, I moved to LA.