The Answer

hands upA long-time friend
recently confessed
he was once abducted by aliens.
How else to explain
the memory gaps,
the strange spot on his left arm,
why he is so drawn to the stars.

At my hotel in San Francisco
a group of middle-aged women
chatter eagerly of the second coming,
giddy as school girls.
All the signs are there
laid out in Revelation.
The elevator stops.
They get off busily.
I stand waiting, unsaved.

And there is more good news
from my friend, Mahrinanda.
As was foretold,
the giant rock at Joshua Tree
has split. Word from mother earth—
she has forgiven us our debts.
So 20,000 gather on a Colorado peak
to help align magnetic fields.
We are entering
the new age.

But the moon has two faces.
One we never see.
Life is a cat with string.
We knock and knock
but when the door swings
open from the other side,
what answers
is not an explanation,
but a heart beat.
And in our own last days,
crumpled, drying, veined,
our explanations drone
like a phonograph needle, stuck.
Our last cry cries not
for truth or God,
but air.

Copyright © 2000 Susan Dane • All rights reserved.
Selection from GOOD-BYE TO WHITE KNIGHTS and other moving vehicles—III. One Hand.
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