Even Now When Our House Crumbles

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1-Crumble

The Earth moves         always
         slow
         like your appreciation
                  for work and tired muscles

Earth’s multiple bodies
                  layers upon layers
                           crash
                           into each other
                           where things begin and end\
         burden clarity
                  the first date
                  the last time you had sex
         together; you choked
on your stitches.

                           even the needle
you used again
                  on the seismograph
         picked up unknown

vibrations                           a train rolled

by miles long
                                    you were late

                                    for the job you took
                                    for her
                                    you forget her
birthday
                  tonguing the wound

where the stitches held
                           your taste and career

                           you look at the map

imagine Pangea                  you wonder
                           about their divorce
         if the continents left
a paper trail                           a custody battle

over the desert that mirrors your eyes
         and the peaks that gave you
         breath

                           the San Andrea’s fault carves
through drought
                  and snow

                  its fingers crave the tear

         and fracture
                           in every which way

you can see the scar from space

                  on a globe moving in opposite directions

they’ll just end up together                           again

         is this why they move so hesitantly

         why it took you years to understand her

every year each inch breaks your face
                           all the houses crumble
                           your ceiling falls

some rocks are collections of bone
soon                  they’ll be another layer

you’re supposed to find

cover                  cower under a desk
the magnitudes are exponential

         coward
         you won’t see your end coming

                  will you even notice
                                    the love trying to wake you up

sometimes you think you’ve forgotten
                  how love continues
                                    to crush you

the earth shakes

on the T.V. a camera no one had paid attention to
         that recorded the mundane
         of work                  caught people

         starting to run
                                    caught the fear
         spreading across a man’s face
         maybe your own

         as if you too had forgotten
                  how the earth moves
                                    has moved
                  that underneath your wounds
         heal and split                  slowly

you who does nothing
                  to save even yourself

                  in the chaos
                  remembers all the fragments
                  inside the house

you blame                  the earthquake                   the foundation

never your own hands.

Listen to this poem:

Photo “A Crack in the Earth” by rabiem22 used under Creative Commons License.

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About Author

David Campos, a CantoMundo fellow, is the author of Furious Dusk (Notre Dame Press 2015), winner of the Andres Monotya Poetry Prize.  His poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, Luna Luna, Boxcar, and Queen Mobs Teahouse among many others. He teaches English at Fresno City College and College of the Sequoias. 

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