from Quarantine

Quarantine

By the time the sun touched the grass
beneath my back where I lay
beside my wife and son who seemed
to be breathing a fog of breath
I thought hung above each mouth
I knew I had died and was dead
though thinking through where I was
as if the thinking could bring me
where death is not an is
instead of where I found myself
watching my wife and son without
seeing them beside me on the ground
but knowing they were there
breathing as I was the air above
the mouths there and perhaps thinking
as I was thinking to keep myself here
where I could not be dead could not be
dead could not be anything but alive
and tracking the sun coming over the trees
even though the moon had not moved
and my wife my son and I were growing
into the grass beneath us and the moon
does not care about the bodies there
in that field on the earth at dawn
the moon cannot see and if
the moon could see it still would not care

Quarantine / 2

An attempt at truth when truth
is what is most difficult to hold down
the three bodies in the grass
stable there as they we lose composition
and become an else a handful of elses
in a field beneath the moon as it is replaced
by the sun now risen above the trees
and starving the grass of dew
the sun showing three bodies there
a dog stepping from the trees

Quarantine / 3

A dog from the trees
a familiar image if not for the angle
the dog now at my feet I see it
from where I lie wonder if it will bite
from fear from hunger anger
hunger having nothing to do with emotion
though it too is a feeling
and wonder if I will be eaten
dead and dead will I feel the teeth
take pieces of me what was me
away pieces of my wife and son
and what will remain will anything
remain for the moon not to see
when it reveals its blue scrapes
to those watching it from here
but when the dog touches its mouth
to me it tugs at a boot pulls it off
and steps into the trees at the other side

Quarantine / 4

We had been pulled from the trees
at the other side by the feet
by men in charge of clearing
the town of the sick the dying
the dead dead we were cleared
I remember my son died first
my wife three days after
I was relieved to hear him stop
screaming whenever he screamed
I felt like screaming my wife
only cried she blamed me for
she blamed me for everything
I had brought it into our house
I was the cause for his death for hers
she never mentioned mine
though I was as close to death as she

Quarantine / 5

As close to death as she I asked her
how she felt if she was happy now
at last knowing she had been right
if being right brought joy if
it was in itself a virtue
if rightness could be a source of joy
without knowing one were right
I know I was smiling as I spoke
as I myself was dying and she said nothing
I could hear she said something
but I could not hear the words
and I screamed I screamed as my son
had screamed not at her but for my son
and then of course she died
not in her sleep but with her eyes open

Quarantine / 6

My wife died with her eyes open
but her eyes were not on me
when she died I was not there
when she died

Quarantine / 7

When she died I was at the river
though forbidden to leave for any reason
my throat a fleshy burn I left
the house to find water
knew the river too was dying
but the dying are not afraid
of being killed so I left
and told my wife I hoped she died
happy at least knowing she knew
I hoped she died in pain hoping
she knew I hoped she died in pain
and after drinking the water I returned
to her open dead face our son
still in her arms even then
the white scarf still in one hand
I knew I would not drink again
the water more painful than its absence
a jagged fire in the mouth and a knot
in the stomach as nothing came out

Quarantine / 8

There is a bell to ring when
a body succumbs I rang this bell
for my son but no one came
I did not ring it for my wife
and no one came no one here
is alive to take the bodies
no one wants to take the bodies
away if I were not dead
I would not touch me alive
or dead I would not touch me

Quarantine / 9

I feel nothing lying here I feel little
here the sores on my legs
on my neck have not been drained
the pain almost glorious so familiar
in its presence during the night
but now there is a softness
to the feeling a body is washing
away falling into the grass beneath it
and that body was mine and no one
is here to carry it no one
will hold the body

Brian Henry
Quarantine
Ahsahta Press

Copyright © 2006 by Brian Henry.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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