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Gravitas

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The overweight, overnight parts
that came to me in a dream.

Their clothes no longer fit,
it was this that brought them
to me crying, their faces twitching.

That had to end. No, they said,
it didn’t. So I rolled over to ghosts
that couldn’t dent a pillow.

The clock shed. Night pulled its
burdens into harbor and I woke,
glad for the day, its telltale light,

its flying minute, that genie work,
and the everlasting perturbations
of my people, their glories,

their heavy last words,
and for these, I rose.

Source: Poetry (January 2013)

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This poem originally appeared in the January 2013 issue of Poetry magazine

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Gravitas

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