Invitation

“We are Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Mesopotamians, Judeans, Cappadocians, Pontians, Asians, Phrygians, Pamphylians, Egyptians, Lybians from Cyrene, Romans, Jews and Jewish converts, Cretans, Arabs, yet we hear them, these Galileans, speaking in our own tongues...” Acts 2: 11 (adapted)

We’re horny Corinthians whispering sweaty moonlit Amens,

men from Venus crying in rainy hideaways,

Puerto Ricans choosing between pride and obedience,

Disgruntled Filipinos with a post-colonial aftertaste,

Sunny rosey white girls with a lotta things to say,

Wounded flowers blooming down the streets of the Arab spring,

Sparrows crashing down into glassy ceilings,

Children’s hands in the sand building the new stonehenge,

Melancholy fetuses biting into your nape,

Hating you for every tax dollar that’s at stake,

We’re the row of flashing red lights chasing the pestilence,

We’re the phony people with funny accents

filtering the patterns of our thought trends,

we’re the corner of the closet where you’ve kept your costy secrets,

behind the rack with the coats for special occassions

We’re Catholics cast in a wide net of wisdom,

transcending the distinction between pedophiles and Christendom,

we’re Protestants who break up with our spouses or our churches,

we’re Buddhists into Jesus and Jesus Loving You for Ten Cents,

we’re porcupines, penguins, and every animal our hand shadows can make,

we’re every single frost of snow that has ever been named,

we’re enchanted, delighted,

to have a feast of lights where brightness is expected,

we’re dejected, ejected,

from our homes when our mommies found behind the rack with the coats

the secrets of our trespasses, the pictures with the stitched faces

We’re joggers by the streetcar,

Shirtless glorious white men,

women with tank tops and track legs,

(baby can you show me the minutae of your mileage?)

—hehehehehehe—

we’re vietnamese ladies with their squinty burdens

men with black suitcases on their carrot-heads,

eleven hundred people dying from hunger for sabbath

black men and trombones, white men in misery,

women of every color showing fifty shades of beauty,

homeless peddlers looking for daily bread,

all I got is my hand, wanna shake it instead?

All I got is my hand, wanna shake it instread?

I see you’ve got no money, I see you’ve lost your pride,

But at least you’ve got your tongue and so you can tell me

Your side of the story, the miles of your narrative,

Or else I’m apathetic and I don’t even offer you my friendship—

Cause I’m a bachelor with a bachelor’s in English,

With porn and Virgin Mary rosaries hidden under my bed

We’ve come in peace, we’ve come to rest, we come to feast,

Even with the pests,

To bring you colors and metaphors and tough skins,

Come to a place where there aren’t muggers or blood-spatterers,

Scene-stealing gun-triggers,

We’ve come to rattle some shit out to dry,

We’ve come to squeeze the love out of hugs and to try

To show you the fruits of our listening,

This is our breathing, this is our song, this is our singing,

Do you speak with our tongues?