Trojan Poetry 67: "Addicted to Joy" by James Harms

Addicted to Joy
By James Harms

Whales fall slowly to the ocean floor
after dying and feed the vertical nation
for years. Like Christ, who feeds us still,
they say, though I don’t know.
But imagine it:
fish chasing through bones
or nibbling what’s left, the whale,
when it finally touches bottom,
an empty church.
Forget all that,
it’s intended to soften
the skin, like apricot seeds and mud, or boredom.
The drift of worlds in a given day
can turn a telephone to porcelain,
open graves in the sidewalk. So that
who knows why thinking about thinking
leads to new inventions of grace
that never take, never lead to , say, what to do
with Grandmother, who is determined to live
“beyond her usefulness,” which is fine,
but why won’t she relax and watch the sea with me?
I wish someone would intrude on all this.
People grow tired
explaining themselves to mirrors,
to clerks administering the awful perfume.
I ask a Liberace look-alike,
“Why do you dress that way?”
“What way?” he says,
and he’s right.
Who taught us to bow our heads
while waiting for trains? To touch
lumber without regret and sing privately
or not at all? To invest the season
with forgiveness and coax from it
A hopeful omen? Lord knows
the hope would heal this little fear.
But who taught us to fear?
Soon branches crackle in the windy heat
like something cooking too quickly,
dogwood lathering the empty woods
and everyone looking for a commitment
of permanence, from summer, from someone else.
Two deer the color of corn disappear
into an empty field, and I wait beside the road
for them to move. I want to see them again.