The Elephants in Yunnan

“five elephants pass slowly through a car dealership, indifferent to human attention… [and caused more than $1 million in crop damages.”] – New York Times

Outside, clouds smash head on
into the mud as fast as corona.

Inside, I have slipped on
a zipless dress as fast as corona.

The world is dying slowly here-
at home, where everyone bears

the burden of adjustment. We moulder
away, wipe the calling bell, the knob

and go a little batty keeping away
used coins in a box. The earth shrugs off

its inhibitions. Dolphins at Marine Drive
divulge secrets. Canals in Venice

have an opening, after years,
to luxuriate in a bath. The elephants-

the blithe swish of their pearl-grey
muzzles- easy unlike this slate-grey

building block. They amble and grub
about, crumple windows and doors,

corn and cane- no longer tamed
in their soberness. We become

dust here. We forget this.
Like we forget stricken trees, saw

them to chairs and grace them
with our bottoms. Just think-

the sunflowers, first wilting
in a book. Then in a museum.

A JPEG. Numbers in the news
rise and rise and rise

like the sun. I want to unlearn
to forget. To recall the crusty white

shell of each milk tooth, the ruptured
innards of my jaw. I want to make a word

for when I combed my dead
grandmother’s hair. That time we stopped

visiting the river after we got rained on,
just once. This loss- I must walk down

its long winding road- hardened
with red earth, lined with brushwood.

Then sit with my sorrows cradled
in cupped hands, breed my fledgling

reasons to live. I will rest
my palm over my heart-

its thumping, homely weight
like a roof over my head.