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Lauren Rooker: Translation

October 11, 2012 by PBQ

Cain

When I asked Where the hell am I?
I meant God, guide me.

When I asked How much is the fare?
I meant My feet are bleeding,

My belly’s empty, it’s cold.
When I said It’s cold I meant

I’m scared shitless.
When I screamed Goddamnit

I meant Grant me rest.
When I cried Where are you?

I meant What kind of father
Casts his son unarmed

And unloved into the desert?
When I said Forget it

I meant Forgive me.
When I said Forgive me I meant

Lord, I want to go home.
When I understood, at last,

I was never going home
I prayed for you to shut my eyes

Against this foreign sand
That I might wander blind.

When you failed to answer
I paid a man to gouge out my eyes

With a spoon. He took the money
And ran. When I found him

Years later—a horse thief
Imprisoned in the heart

Of the city I’d come to rule—
I stayed his execution,

Brought him home, fed him the choice cut,
Bathed him with oil and myrrh,

Dressed him in my finest silk
And called him brother.

I don’t know if he remembered
The circumstances of our first meeting:

We never discussed it.
When it came time for him to leave

I washed his feet, pressed
A bag of coins into his palm

And kissed him on the cheek.
Soon after, I heard he was stabbed

Outside our city walls
And left to bleed to death

In a roadside ditch. His corpse
Was naked, his purse empty.

Lord, when I ask Why
Did you make me?

I mean Have mercy.
Erase what these hands have wrought.

Filed Under: Contributors 85, Issue 85, Poetry, Poetry 85 Tagged With: Contributors 85, Lauren Rooker, Poetry, Poetry 85

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