CALL ME BELOVED

No poems for shame chills that follow
you into the shower, run like the water
through your hair, spill down your back,

no poems for 10th floor, balcony access,
for timing the fall to the church bells just
next door, aim for the field of green, quiet

courtyard where carpenter bees crashed
clumsy into your forehead, wood pergola
overhead to help you forget how far you’ve

come from home, no poems for the razing,
for the flood, no verses for homecomings,
forget your address, your alma mater – no

more fight songs – no more fighting at all,
just the remembering, and the forgetting –
church bells, carpenter bees, just the fall