Teach me how to love the cough, the test, the social distance, canceled prom, empty gym,
the steady slide into impoverishment. My ears, at this late age, make of silence
a steady hiss, so I’m never alone, except with my failures. Failure to forget myself
completely for just a moment. Even as my granddaughter swings her tiny foot—golpe,
golpe, golpe—I’m thinking my granddaughter, as if the reckless joy she brings to the dance
is part mine. But nothing is mine. And that’s the lesson you came to teach. Everything
crumbling. Everything suspended a moment like pollen on the water at the top of a waterfall.
Or like a stray dog in traffic, lunging & turning. Or a bat in the bedroom flapping raggedly
toward one wall & the next. If just for one moment I could still the hiss in my ears,
the shuddering in my chest, or call it something else—a shimmering—then would I be
like the humming stones at the waterfall’s foot that welcome the weight of water & pollen:
golpe fuerte, golpe de suerte, golpe mortal.
Jon Davis is the author of five chapbooks and six full-length poetry collections, including, most recently, An Amiable Reception for the Acrobat(Grid Books, 2019). Davis also co-translated Iraqi poet Naseer Hassan’s Dayplaces(Tebot Bach, 2017). He has received a Lannan Literary Award, the Lavan Prize, the Off the Grid Poetry Prize, and two National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships. He taught for 23 years at the Institute of American Indian Arts before founding, in 2013, the IAIA low-residency MFA in Creative Writing, which he directed until his retirement in 2018.