Even as I’m led out in chains
beneath the lights of the big top
& mount, in my blue helmet,
my tricycle again, even as I pedal
out before the crowd
who have never seen anything
like this, who are always waiting
for payday, for their peanuts,
for their children to grow old,
I think again of the tulips,
of the ten years of dark they endure
before breaking into root & stalk
& cups of silk flames. And everyone
else keeping a vigil, mourners
& roosters, wells for high noon,
dogs for the full moon, Mary
at His tomb, fumbling for the words
of another Magnificat. Night shift
nurse, ambulance driver walking
the ringing ruins, waiting for
the phones of the dead to stop.
There are vigils that are flameless,
prayerless, & though tonight
I’m only the opening act, the bear
who rides a tricycle,
one day the hand
that holds the chain will be drunk,
or stoned, or heartbroken,
thinking of another’s hair
on a pillow, & in that moment
I’ll be out the door, & down
the road, & I’ll pedal until I find
the stars my mother walked beneath,
the river for which I was named.