TWO POEMS

by Steve Healey 

A State of Permanent Visibility   

The seeing machine…has become a transparent building in which

the exercise of power may be supervised by society as a whole.

--Michel Foucault, Discipline & Punish

Each street led to another street.

If we wanted, we could just keep going.

Some of us drove cars. Some walked.

It was amazing. Blood flowed under our skin.

Our eyelids blinked every few seconds.

Everyone was doing something with their bodies.

Some prayed. Some played cards.

The King of Hearts was showing,

but only the upper half of his body.

Our history was full of bodies that were so beautiful,

we wanted to be them or hurt them.

Our history was full of beautiful clothing

that hurt our bodies. We could buy this clothing

in stores. We could see mannequins in windows

wearing this clothing as if it didn’t hurt.

Those mannequins were so still and perfect,

it was hard to believe. They all wanted to be

Venus de Milo, who was so beautiful

her arms had been broken off and thrown away.

We all wanted to hold Venus de Milo

in our hands like an apple because

she had held an apple back when she had hands.

We’d already eaten Marilyn Monroe like

a soft-serve ice cream cone until there was nothing

left of her. That’s what we knew how to do.

We knew how to extinguish a star

and wash our hands and put ourselves to bed

night after night, and some of us were able to sleep.

One morning we woke and found

that we’d survived. We were older,

and we were breathing. Blood flowed

through our vessels. Our eyelids blinked.

We were hungry—in fact, we were famished.

Our children brought us poison soup,

and we gulped it down. It was amazing.                                  

Civilization

this morning I pay $109 to have my cat killed

because he’s almost dead

I hold him in the sterile room crying and crying

until someone comes with the syringe

later I’m still a monster

and upon that monster it cries and cries a motherlode of snow

and I disappear until the spring melt

the alarm clock turns green because it’s time to wake up

all the trees making green plans

all the bodies becoming soil

all fifty-six ongoing armed conflicts around the planet

the planet seen from outer space

but now all I can see is this monster poem

this poem witnessing its own monstrosity as the spring sun

comes closer conjuring baby green leaves from their buds

my daughter wants to glue glitter to everything

or cut everything up with scissors

marshmallow clouds sailing over the recycling plant

the sad red van parked near the group home on Selby

selling drugs to the recovering drug addicts

the IMAX movie about a single breath

the one breath ever breathed

the hole in which we placed the cardboard box

in which we placed our dead cat

later in the dark I sing Amazing Grace

my daughter so close to sleep

the streetlight in the alley turns on

"A State of Permanent Visibility" and "Civilization" are from Safe Houses I Have Known. Used with permission of the author and Coffee House Press. 

Steve Healey is the author of three books of poetry, all published by Coffee House Press—Earthling, 10 Mississippi, and most recently, Safe Houses I Have Known, which was a finalist for both The Believer Book Award and The Minnesota Book Award. His poems have appeared in magazines such as American Poetry Review, Fence, and The Nation, along with various anthologies, including The New Census: An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry. He teaches English & creative writing at Minneapolis College.