The endless river that circles

All Tribes Are Mine

I claim them all, if none
will have me. All tribes
are mine. I claim them
in my afterbirth, my red
crown screaming, “How
have I come to this?”
before language made
its first imposition.

I claim all tribes by the
endless river that circles
the Earth in ceaseless
blood. I call everything
to kin from frog murmur
to bear cry. In the pale
shuddering of the sun and
the incendiary fan of the
moon, I proclaim breath
ties with all who would
have and not have me.



For I am of you, by you,
for you, in you, and you
cannot disclaim me. All
tribes are mine and I
claim you as such unto
the end of my brief days.

Joseph Gallo
May 27, 2010

Everything we know

The Tender Acre

So we chat about love and relationships and the small
sacrifices one makes for another and we agree that we
each already have the answers to what we say we don’t
yet know and that what really slows us is the willingness
to take action based on what we already know, how fear
or comfort keeps us from banishing the compromises
we hold ourselves hostage to like those pretty roses one
sees tied at the end of grapevine rows that serve not as
decoration but as enticement to whatever ravages blight or
pestilence might visit upon the tender acre that would keep
the heart from swelling into something wondrous and
indiminishable, all this as a man walks out of a sporting
goods store and passes by holding a shiny new rod and
reel excitedly telling it about all the great places he’s going
to take it, the quality time they’ll soon spend together as
they hurriedly round the empty corner and disappear.

We turn to look at one another as everything we think
we know bobs and submerges without a trace of ripple.

Joseph Gallo
June 1, 2010