The Chain

All summer I have kept moving,per the advice of Brad Pitt in the zombieapocalypse movie I watched one dayinstead of lapping up my sadness like milk.Movimiento es vida, he said in bad Spanish,and so I try to live, drive down the coastto my hometown and back, to Oaklandwhere I feel the most hope because bothmy nieces jump into its summer and raisetheir arms to the sky. Yesterday I thoughtmaybe I should switch to Tom Pettybecause his voice has always consoled meand we all know Rumours was the endeven though they sang it with fire and grace,1977, Sausalito, all the coke you could carry,Stevie in a lace shawl on a houseboat,twirling mescaline loops to stave off sadness,like me in the dark watching zombies scalethe walls of Jerusalem, writhing pile of failingflesh. My heart is tired, wrung dry fromeach day muttering No way out but through,something you used to say about the divorcethat had no end. Who left whom? Deep breath.Late July. Rosie sleeping sweetly at my feet.At least you never lied. That’s the piece I keep.