- Nocturne with Choking in Calloway Gardens
The quickest way to deathis choking this is my fearnot death but the chokingI have felt recently like something'sstuck in my throat the moon perhapsa cloud passing an iris dilatedThe garden is quiet this timeof night No water bubblingin the fountain no fountainjust a gravel path I followEach azalea blossom bud I pluckand squeeze in my palmfeels like feeling in control of somethingfor once even if nature alwayshas the final say even if each clasppulls apart so easily the petalssheathed in green Each one I picksays there's a whole acre morewaiting My grandmother onceturned red then blue a pieceof meat lodged in her throat My throatis lined with rings like a cat'sI often seize up over simple thingsbread or kudzu Now at the dinner tableI want to say Excuse me I need to leavefor I have already swallowed enoughdarkness enough enough Man cannotlive on Man cannot liveon alone There is not a differencein a root in my vein or one in my headthe branch ends up in the same placeLittle fist of daisies how smallyour petals you will die soonwith no root left to hold you [End Page 12] The past is but the past is but the dirtunder my fingernails I have duga trench around myself Now I amprotected three feet in alldirections but also stuck in placeI have forgotten the tasteof blackberries or okra stained tongueor salt the smaller thingsI never had a choiceof what I ate I ate it anywaya good child is silent a good childdoesn't sing there is pine sapon my palms the garden is fulltoo full even without me Hope isa burden I gave up long agoI no longer wait for springor much of anything no hot waterboiling for tea no phone callno hand on my hand to remind meI'm not walking alone My head iscrumbling in on itself If death is actuallysleep then I have been so very tiredfor so very long twenty yearsto be exact I am afraid I wantto eat every flower in the gardenuntil I can't breathe anythingbut the sweetness My therapistis convinced I'm not a threatto myself that makes one of us [End Page 13]
William Fargason is a PhD candidate in poetry at Florida State University, where he received a Kingsbury Fellowship for 2018–19. His poems have recently appeared in the Threepenny Review, Narrative, Pleiades, Poetry Northwest, Washington Square Review, and elsewhere.