Now, everything that breathes
knows my given name, the full of it,
The scars it leaves on the skyline.
They know my moments of mercy,
And yes, how calmly I can kill.
The bastard child of a bluesman and an ocean,
I won’t die until music does. But I
have never heard a prayer
that began with my name,
gave me pause,
forced me to rearrange my wind
instead, I listened, bemused, to thirty-four
snotty pleas addressed to the idea of Him,
the ghost in the air, my rumored father.
I was all the seconds they had left.
They should have smothered me with kneeling.
Instead, in their old scratched voices,
They begged the wet air for salvation. They called
Lord, Lord, Lord,
until I was forced to show them my face.
2008
Regular
Contemporary
2023
Faith & Hope
Identity
Allusion
an expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; an indirect or passing reference
Enjambment
a line break interrupting the middle of a phrase which continues on to the next line
Imagery
visually descriptive or figurative language, especially in a literary work
Metaphor
a comparison between two unrelated things through a shared characteristic
Personification
the attribution of human qualities to a non-human thing