Shaun Capps

longing for an epic to crystallize my nation

like Homer did for Greece

we speed read through relationships and years

and try to say it all in short story form

but that is what novels are for

writer-reader contracts are broken at every turn

gave them 500 pages and they still don’t know characters

enigmas wrapped in riddles

paths calling like siren songs, we coming

rally your faculties, there is much work to do

in this quandary of hope, acquiesce smoothly

in a mixed dystopia now, the liminal state of circling

I saw birth and death in the same breath, alien world

suns and moons absent from the apogee

I’m gone til the morning

but this is the farthest I will ever be from you

this is the end of something and the start of something else

although no cataclysmic love fade and perfection is made to forget

I’m gone til morning, and what you see is what you get.

should have known it was not gonna work

she always wore those nice dresses

and me, I was in casual tees

just wanted to vibe, you know

slow lunches, casual teas

wild half-steppin’ girl

she is reduced to a casual tease

she is never honest, never open

just makes casualties.

A slight breeze

tinges of bourbon and Chanel 5

come, come to this southern diaspora

where proven traditions keep these rebels alive

they call it Oxford, sippi heart medicine

it is almost as real as Faulkner’s Jefferson

find them in the Grove

it’s a shame what she does to that dress

the sun is the earth’s stove

but her hair is not yet the mess

now listen, listen to the honey vernacular speech

mouths drip magnolias and the tea is sweet, listen

to slow waters at riverside

coffee-colored feet moving to the moonlight

be careful, touch her and her smell stays on your hands like garlic

a tranquil outrage that renders you lethargic

I said be careful, the breeze is swimming through trees, and her hair draws

you will be attached to her

like shelter workers are to the dogs

almost like a dream out here

at night it is alive and shimmering

odd shapes swaying in the grass

spirits dancing in old pagodas

it is a ghost country, the way it comes out at night

never really see it, just think you did

magical even, appearing, disappearing

it blends with the natural, changes form, it levitates

it can fly, passes through barbed wired and melts like ice

comes up on you with no sound

in the daylight, you don’t believe in this stuff

but when night falls in Oxford, you are a believer

even when she gets old she will still wear a full smile on weathered features

and with slight wrinkles around her eyes, you will know they came from laughing

her appearance will still be stunning, soul concentrated like a bisque

she was, she will be, and she is, Ole Miss.

we will make this quick, we are here to recruit you to the new Words Division

this is Detective Meter, he covers Shakespeare, forgery, illegal dealings, and overtly free thespian interpretations

and all that other unsexy stuff nobody wants to deal with

the major case we need help with right now is a felonious one-man performance of Twelfth Night

habitual offender, he has been fined multiple times but has not learned his lesson

Word has it that the Southside is beginning to receive his Malvolio

which is quite frightful, honestly

we need help stopping him, and Word has it you can help us

look, I’m done with Shakespeare

that was years ago, that’s not me anymore

besides, I’m too busy, I breed bookworms now

and that reminds me, I need to buy more prepositions, they ate what last I had

we know you are busy, it’s just that your work on Titus Andronicus, the way you rejected in on the grounds of too many verbs per unit

we need that type of fierce diligence

and we are willing to compensate you well

how about a year supply of prepositions for the bookworms?

Not gonna work fellas, I’ve cornered that market, I’ve been allowing improper grammar to select writers

It’s not something I am proud of, but it’s their pen, not mine

besides, nobody is reading that abstract expressionism anymore

I don’t think you understand what is happening in the streets, they are stealing from books, pirating copies, and rewriting endings

you can’t honestly sit there with a clear conscience

Okay, maybe not, two years of prepositions, three dozen rare manuscripts, and a date with Analogy cause she is hot

Done.

not the disappearance of civil rights activists

not speeches of blacks running amuck

not even 1962 James Meredith

but Mississippi burning

bonfires, the country party

sticks gathered in the sticks

logs and pallets pulled from alleyways

girls way prettier than they should be

fellas way louder than normal

but it don’t matter out here

alcohol mixes with no life experience and memories get seared

none of them know what this night will bring, but it will have fire

not the kind that burns children’s hands

or the kind that brings homes to ashes

but the kind of fire that draws impurities from infected waters

Mississippi is burning

embers and flames

new life in the Old South

full release when the smoke kicks you in the mouth

charcoal companions alive with the flicker

wafting adrenaline while these hearts are yearning

it’s that comfort warmth

a Mississippi burning.

little man presses his face into her hip

both arms wrapped around the thigh

constricting just above the knee

he is not her son, but she pretends

as he gives her new power to be

she is rarely touched by any male

so however evasive his innocence, she welcomes the touching

more than discovering the throws of maternity, she is becoming a different person

right now

     she is wanted

     she is needed

     she is responsible

for the first time she is affirmed

capable of loving and being loved

little man has created a monster

now she will anticipate the affection from a big man

and I hope she finds it.

There is a story about a man

who took intimacy when he could find it

a night here, a night there

Finally found a girl he wanted to take to dinner

“Mam, have you decided?”

“Yes, I’ll have monogamy and marriage.”

“Excellent choice, Mam, the monogamy is splendid.”

“And you, Sir?”

“Um, um…uh…uh…um…”

“Sir, I can come back later if you need more time.”

“No, um, I uh, time won’t help, um, uh, just let me have a side of sex.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but that’s not possible, the sex only comes with commitment.”

“Commitment, huh? Never liked it much, just never had a taste for it, um…”

“Well, Sir, have you considered trying the marriage? It’s been a special for years.”

“Yeah, I think about it, just don’t know what I think about it.”

Don’t know the year

but I was just a kid

This old dude came to my grandma’s church

Main Street, Marion, South Carolina

After service there was food on the lawn

I was throwing the football with some other kids

Then Nana made me stand in line to shake this old dude’s hand

Even as a boy, I felt the buzz, camera snaps and fake smiles

It was the longest line I ever stood in, thought it was so stupid

“He’s about 100 years old.”

“I can’t believe he came to Marion.”

“Nana do I have to shake his hand?”

“Yes, now be quiet and be respectful. This is Strom Thurmond.”

“Who?”

“Stroooommmm Thurmuunnd.”

So I shook the old dude’s hand and went back to throwing the football.

Treated me like a hotel room y’all

come now, you will get it

left the way people leave a hotel room

the hotel room is a place to be when you are doing something else, accomplishing tasks in public

then come back only when you need rest

the hotel room is comfortable, convenient, but even more than that, it is anonymous

it is always treated differently than something owned

the tenant leaves things on the floor, kicking them aside, walking on them

because it liberates them to know they will not have to clean up the mess they leave behind

when the hotel room is no longer needed, they just pay a little something

say, “Thank you, Sir.”

and leave as quickly as they came, forgetting the room before they even finish walking away

nobody regrets leaving the hotel room, not ever

nobody with a home wants to stay there forever, not ever

treated me like a hotel room y’all

So…while you are out there in public, caught up in those bright lights, succeeding, living, remember when you come back for rest

that Concierge is on break, he is in the back eating the lunch his wife packed for him

and when you enter the Lobby, strut up to the Front Desk

that young man will tell you in the professional tone:

“Mam, there are no vacancies here, we are closed for renovation, I have done everything I could do to help you, normally, we could work something out, but we are just so busy now, but there is another hotel across town, maybe you could find a room over there, Good Luck.”

treated me like a hotel room y’all.

We have become like a coin

Dirty, dingy, bruised from the handling

We have fallen to the ground

Waiting for a stranger to pick us up

Put us in their pocket and carry us to other places

We have become like a coin

Dirty, dingy, bruised from the handling

But somehow still worth the same as Yesterday’s shine

When reflections were slick, silvered mirrors

Just a coin, see, flicked by a child’s finger into wishing wells

Descending swiftly, resting abruptly at the bottom with other coins

Just a coin, see, dirty, dingy, bruised from the handling

Just a coin, see, liberty engraved in the smother

We have become like a coin

One in the same, but our faces don’t face each other.