#128 Albuquerque Summer Day by Jason L. Yurcic

For an angry man like myself
The miracle is not to walk on water
It is to be here
In spite of the pain they have administered with their ploys
I love being poor
Love that everything I own I have made with my own hands
Love that there are holes in my socks
Because my children have ten pairs of socks
And they will never know my pain
Never be laughed at for being uneducated
Never know what it feels like to live without their father
They will never know my pain
And I love that
Love that after I tore the ass out of my work pants
That my 9-year-old daughter can teach me to use her sewing machine
Her slender hands working the hem line
And I can use the pants for another 5 years
Here I sit in the heat
The heat of an Albuquerque summer day
Heroine spoon over candle flame heat
The heat of an Albuquerque summer day
And the clouds know my name
The Harvester ants know my name
And the clerks at Hollister or the Gap
Have never seen my face
And I am proud to have nothing in the eyes of others
Proud that I love dirt under my nails
Here I sit in the heat of an Albuquerque summer day
Glass pipe, lip and finger blister heat
And I give myself to the clouds
The leaves
The blue sky
Brown mountain
Give myself away for nothing at all
In a world where we are taught
Nothing is free
I sit here in the heat of an Albuquerque summer day and
I am free

Jason Yurcic’s poems are usually not written – instead they often float in the air around his children or glisten in the sunlight. A transitional poet, Yurcic’s work fuels poems in adverse conditions. Those which make it to paper are a shaving compared to that which passes through his mind.


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