Poem – DUST BOY

As we pass from hallowed October into the uncertain chill of November, here’s a poem I wrote recently. Not quite horrific, but spectral all the same.

DUST BOY

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Call me Dust Boy.

If you call me at all –
True, it’s hard to see
What you’re looking at.

My shade invades
As much air as yours
Yet no mass –particles
Never congealed and thus
Cannot touch
Cannot bruise

I know you can see me.

Or at least feel me, because you sneezed
When I passed by,
Rather than answer my
Ruptured question

Do I beg for such an
Unbearable favor? To be heard
And acknowledged as solid
Flesh just as the rest,
Capable of as much damage
As much pain
As much ecstasy

But I understand. It is hard
To sympathize with dust
When you can’t even see
What you’re looking at.

I won’t make you sneeze
If you promise to seek me
Through the light – one gaze
One word will bind my bones
For good.

Or at least long enough
To shout my question
Where it will land –

Just call to me, “Dust Boy”
And I will appear, reeking and shining
Skin – then you’ll know
What you haven’t looked at.

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