Amputation Transcript, a Redaction

Should I write down what I heard? A voice, the gasp
of a prosthetic knee. Grass taken into the mouths
They have no clue
of two donkeys grazing behind
what’s going on.
a fence; behind another, people screaming. No, not the right
word: jeering. The difference between fear and derision
thin as the blood-brain barrier.
Mortality displacement. That’s what he said, microphones
You’re gonna die, bitch.
turned like flowers to the sunshine of his voice.
Balaam beat his donkey about its ears until it turned
to him and spoke: You have no clue, do you?
Straightens tie, turns from microphones
and coughs into fist, meaning: My soul is among lions;
I lie among the sons of men Who are set on fire,
Whose teeth are spears and arrows, And their tongue
Eat it. Eat.
a sharp sword.
If I hadn’t heard your voice. Should I write down
what I heard? Wind in the cyclone
fence. An arrhythmia
of mortar fire. At 5 minutes 31 seconds
one still kicks at the wet, toothy faces. Fingers hooked
in the chain link. Sometimes I don’t know what they’re shouting.
Those guys are looking around, breathing.
It may be another language.
Read the names, make a tally. A check box for missing
left leg, below knee
right leg, below knee
left leg, above knee
right leg, above knee
Look at the face on that one.
If you cracked open the carcass of this country, would honey
flow out?
A requisition form. The pallet of brown boxes,
taped, stamped:
Transfibial
Transfemoral
Transradial
Transhumeral
The roaring of the lion, The voice
of the fierce lion, And the teeth
of the young lions are broken. Or: “500
major amputations—toes and fingers
aren’t counted.” Do the math. Nine
lions. Two donkeys. One
doesn’t even run. I’ve never screamed
at anyone. Can you believe that?
Electrocuted in the shower (faulty wiring).
Electrocuted in a swimming pool (faulty wiring)
Sniper bullet entered behind left ear, exited
through mouth, severing
soft palate and tongue. All this time, the angel
of the lord standing
in our path with his sword raised
to strike. The general steps up
to the microphones and says: My heritage is to me like a lion in the forest;
Damn,
It cries out against me;
I was kinda hoping they’d die
Therefore I have hated it.
quicker.
What do people scream about, anyway?
Sometimes, you see,
what they do is they load down a donkey
with explosives, bags of broken glass, and point him
toward the nearest checkpoint.

by Nick Lantz

Ancient Theories

A horse hair falls into the water and grows into an eel.
Even Aristotle believed that frogs
formed from mud,
that mice sprouted like seedlings in the damp hay.
I used to believe the world spoke
in code. I lay awake
and tried to parse the flashes of the streetlight—
obscured, revealed,
obscured by the wind-sprung tree.
Stranded with you at the Ferris wheel’s apogee
I learned the physics
of desire—fixed at the center,
it spins and goes nowhere.
Pliny described eight-foot lobsters
sunning themselves
on the banks of the Ganges. The cuckoo devouring
its foster mother. Bees alighting
on Plato’s young lips.
In the Andes, a lake disappears overnight, sucked
through cracks in the earth.
How can I explain
the sunlight stippling your face in the early morning?
Why not believe that the eye throws its own light,
that seeing illuminates
the world?
On the moon,
astronaut David Scott drops a hammer and a falcon feather,
and we learn nothing
we didn’t already know.

by Nick Lantz