By Mark Lager\
From Fall 2017
By age thirty-three
I finish my ministry
record thirty songs
But I ain’t dyin’ yet
in Beaumont
1440 Forrest Street
I open my own
House of Prayer
to all who are downtrodden
My angel Angeline
she takes care of me
World War II
One sweltering August afternoon
dry as the valley of bones
in Ezekiel
The desert wind blows in
from west Texas
dust covers Beaumont
And I remember the day
my mama died
the cough in the lungs
The sandpaper taste
heavy in the air
splinters of wood
Catch fire
and our house
burns down
Then the rains
of September
fall in Beaumont
Anna covers
our wet mattress
with newspapers
I mumble, murmur
can’t speak no more
I’m descending
She takes me
to the hospital
but they turn us away
“Oh, Lord,
I can’t keep from crying”
They bury me
in Blanchette Cemetery
tomb with no name
Year after year
floods
coffins
floating
Through cypress groves
I drift far away
I disappear
I’m inscribed on a copper plate
leaving our solar system
submerged in deep space