Poem for James Who Asked Me Why Everything Hurts So Much

Poem for James Who Asked Me Why Everything Hurts So Much

My own days bring me slaps on the face
---Lorna Dee Cervantes

....and his eyes were furtive, wild
as if he'd already seen
too much.
---Jay Griswold


Today, it's too warm to see winter
approaching: the wasps are more important
than vision. The BIA seeded 100 queens
onto the reservation to kill aphids

and "we shouldn't eliminate their nests
unless it's absolutely necessary."
My little brother stood at the front door
and raged against the sexless wasps

that battered at the screen. Ten years of age
even his days bring slaps to his face.
For revenge, he half-filled a glass gallon jar
with water, set a few marshmallows to float
as bait

and punched a hole in the lid large enough
for wasp to enter. I watched him build
his deathe machine and watched him watching
the wasps struggle against water and drown.

"Look," he said."One of those wasps is using
another one like a raft." It's true: I stood
beside my brother as one wasp flipped
another beneath the surface and climbed
onto its back. We all want to survive.

"Look," my brother said and it was not
beautiful nor cruel. It was an ornamental
medicine because there was nothing left to
heal. It was the smallest possible war
and still
too large.


Sherman Alexie..........from Old Shirts & New Skins