On Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings

for Kwon Jiyong

I.

I am older than I pretend to be,
living in a state of arrested development,
child with a child.

My daughter’s lovely head rests
upon her pillow. She writes beautiful
fiction, makes me read it while listening
to Barber. She knows how to describe angry,
furious winds and the silent desolation
of love and longing. (Later I cry into
the cave of my pillow.)

She asks if I appreciate Buddhism. I say
I remember having admired it above other
religions, for it felt like me somehow,
it seemed to do with the inherent suffering
of humans. We talk of reincarnation.
Her solemn, beautiful eyes settle on me,
she says I must have known a great love
in my life before, and I am searching
for it desperately now.

II.

I was always different. There was something
in me that felt too much. I have lived
in places where they housed both the silent
and the walking dead and all I felt for my
fellow humans was grief and tenderness.
For Death, the great equalizer, knows no
mercy for the delicate desperation of our
miniature parts, our diminutive feet and
hands that walk and toil and grope for
comfort. Tiny eyes that cry tears of
sorrow and need.

III.

That man, I had him in my mouth today.
I gagged; he was not you. My mind flew
to you and I grew hungry, voracious.
To know your moans, the taste of your
essence. Such beautiful communion. I
have often longed to swallow a gun as
I long to swallow you.

I hear the strings of Barber and suddenly
you are a soldier, something so stark
and lovely, something which might befall
you someday, for in your country such things
are necessary. The violins swell and I see
all the wars and cries and violence, all
in the name of love, and I weep and pray,
with all my prayer-less self, I weep
and pray for you, my love.

IV.

You are not here with me, will never be.
My daughter said, “You survived without
him all these years, without knowing his
existence, and he not knowing yours.” But
I cry into the cool-dark cave of my pillow,
for I am without you, without you forever,
this is the way it must be. The back of my
hand is your mouth, which I kiss and lick
with haunted reverence. I weep for you
and I, my love. With all my prayer-less
self, I weep for you and I.