golem
I.
it’s time to make a golem
i’ll get a lot of clay
and start with the head
“obovoid, appreciably” the manual will say
i will look the words up
just to be careful
it is important in important things
to avoid mistakes
then the eyes
my bright marbles in thumbed-in sockets
“for best results,
press lightly”
it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing
mother says we must leave early
i will pinch out the ears to resemble small stadiums
but quickly now
the body has to be big
bigger than father’s memory
a golem can stand up to “anything,
even lava”
so a small one will do
but a big one will do better
will scare them away
before they even try to see what we left behind
it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing
we must pack before it’s time
feet even bigger than father’s boots
the manual will say “golems don’t need clothes anyway”
mother says tomorrow is a big day
it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing
so i’ll get a lot of clay
and when they come they’ll find my golem
and run
run away
II.
they left early
leaving me here without knowing i was here
they left with their bags heavy
and if they had turned their pink eyes round
then they would have seen me rising from the garden
grubby new and immortal
and maybe they would have all run from the sight of me
run from the sight of my giant movements
run from the sight of my thumbed-in eyes
that shine like planets
i can feel blood going in ribbons
threading ticklishly past my elbows
not clay no
something else affected this body tissue
the clouds are small and paraffin and up
and the trees are vegetable colored
munitions are whimpering against me
the house is well the soldiers flee for cover
my sudden birth and purpose do not strike me as peculiar
i feel limber and familiar
there are mobile joints throughout me
my shoulders are heavy-strutted
before they return with their heavy bags
i think i will be gone
some wishes are best met
when the magic is never known
not clay no
i know this without knowing how i know
i feel a molten neon glowing spark
from the zero-point of youth and need and dream
the dazzling intersection of x y and z
i can feel her thumb-prints behind my eyes glow
Logan Wei lives in the upper Midwest with his wife and hypertensive quadruped. He has worked with patients, prisoners, students and the homeless. Poetry is for him a solacing and natural means of seeking matrimony between the two irreconcilable parties of reality and experience.
