“First Cure”
First Cure
For Allen Ginsberg’s Ghost
(this)
Morning I heard
You writing
Your epic Kaddish
All over again
(there)
At the
Kitchen table
In the pale
(mid)
Night lamplight
(writing)
In twin rainbows
Of ink
On onion
Skin parchment
(these)
Tear-stained webs
Of words
In linen
Blue pools
(out)
Line the
Skeleton casket
Of old
Lady past
(out)
Lining the
Thirsty crypts
Of a memory
(roads)
Sans purpose
(glinting)
Yellow bones
(“who)
Were you
Dear mother?”
(madness)
Blinks twice
(at)
A blank unknown
(“who)
Am I
Dear mother?”
(silence)
Answers ash
(as)
Poet confronts
His own
Broken mirror
(words)
Like swords
(tear)
Stained on paper
(serving)
As the
First cure
On my
(never)
Ending journey back
by John Aiello
November 22, 2021
Written immediately after telephone conversation with Ginsberg biographer Michael Schumacher on Kaddish in manuscript.
Electric Review 