Dig
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About this ebook
Bryan Borland
Bryan Borland is a Pushcart-nominated poet from Little Rock, Arkansas, and the owner of Sibling Rivalry Press. His first book, My Life as Adam, was one of only five collections of poetry included on the American Library Association's "Over the Rainbow" list of notable LGBT-themed books published in 2010. He is the founding editor of Assaracus, the only print journal in the world dedicated exclusively to the poetry of gay men. His work has appeared in Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide, Breadcrumb Scabs, Referential Magazine, vox poetica, Ganymede, and Velvet Mafia, among others. For more about Bryan, visit his website at www.bryanborland.com.
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Book preview
Dig - Bryan Borland
Do
DIG
You want the dirt,
all the sin and tendon
you think are under these nails. I beg,
instead, forget ten years of my life.
Let’s redact the documents, change
the sheets on the bed. Draw lines
through names and dates. Relationships
are never linear. Let’s start, if we must
start, at the last end we know, the slime
of those boys we buried in the yard. Or start
the story in our middle, with two dogs
pulling us down this path, far enough along to
know we survive. Deep enough that
questions turn to statements.
What is a poet? What is a husband?
Forget there was a time we didn’t know
one another. Don’t ask
about candles of ceremony. What meals
were eaten from these plates.
If you must remember something,
remember this: I am a poet.
You hear I was a husband.
Or some form of that word
before I was your husband.
You had lovers, too. We bring
ink to this, books from other tribes,
societies whose languages had
nothing of what we are together.
A FORM OF THAT WORD
WEATHER, THIS
Dear Bryan the storm is soon
to begin I write not in warning as you
will appreciate the autumn flowers
you always wanted The herb garden fragrant
basil and rosemary you think dead from drought
will come alive again in September
Instead I write to bolt down your bones
scarecrow they turn out to be You already know
the direction of these winds The strange
chill of a home in the beginning of wane
A week from now you will be tucked into bed
by a lover who will stab you in your sleep
You will swim in bloody pools
He will tell you dreams and poems mean nothing
Listen dream this poem
How this rain will grow you
a family How some part of you
remembers the hunger of time smells
the blood sees your prints in the mud We are
powerless to what is by right of nature ours
these lunar pulls these campfires warm you night-
bathed when you’ll swim together two
untamable things in the breathing river Your arms
will fold like paper birds around him Your histories
will circle starving beasts soon to eat You’ll make
shelter of every crater and scar Every pain
a guide Everything is instinct
THE BODY IS A DAMN HARD THING TO KILL
While I sleep beside him the body is
in motion I plead for quiet
The body is constantly talking back
I say anniversary and ten years
The body says not yet When I find
comfort the body thirsts for
discomfort The body grows
bored by its own heart so it becomes
the eater of hearts I do not realize until
I taste the blood Then I am faced with
two choices compassion or rage If
compassion the body becomes
a vehicle I merge with the body
If rage the body becomes an impossible
skill to master though
I will try I will try by closing my eyes
but all I see is another body
CHEATED
How I didn’t
follow him into the bathroom
go to him beyond the havoc
light of morning allow my hand to
read the story beneath his waistband
make the first