i think i’m finally ready to admit that i don’t know the first thing about forgiveness
once i wandered in penance an oasis desolate as an ocean
cleared by a storm the only souls still around a small band of ghosts
who stretched their legs on a sunless veranda rattling a tune
with jars full of teeth i plucked petals off pale tulips
heard the same song in she loves me not
& can this kill me
for years i’d steal every vessel from its siren
pick the matchwood out of my throat with fingernails thick
as nickels i made no distinction between powder that soothes
a baby’s gums & powder that puts down tameless broncos
when i tottered into detox the intake nurse didn’t bother
to swallow her awe with a heartbeat like that, it’s a miracle
you’re still alive
it’s no wonder i see desire
the way it looks in cartoons hyenas walk upright as charmed
as you or i by a parrot’s speech coyotes with tongues like runways
never catch their prey & nobody starves even pigeons dumb
with hunger barrel into glass & get rewarded
with crowns full of stars
in lieu of apologies i’ve learned to sing
a sound so solemn passing strangers stop to leave spare pennies
on my eyes but the birds just crane their necks & peck themselves
godless pavement flecked with little red florets the heart pumps & pumps
ANTHONY THOMAS LOMBARDI (he/him) is a Pushcart-nominated poet, organizer, activist, and educator. He is the founder and director of Word is Bond, a community-centered reading series that raises funds for transnational relief efforts and mutual aid organizations, and currently serves as a poetry editor for Sundog Lit. A recipient of the Poetry Project’s Emerge-Surface-Be Fellowship, his work has appeared or will soon in Guernica, Gulf Coast, The Journal, Colorado Review, North American Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Brooklyn with his cat, Dilla.