Babel Redux


With respect to the 2006 film Babel,
by director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu.


The dust swirls in all our faces. Arguing with
the pains and bullets, with addictions and losses,
or with our letting go will not let all that go.
We have everything we have, don’t we? Do we?

I am going to speak to you in personal terms,
although nothing is personal, although intimate
details fill our rooms like flowers at funerals,
where transformation spills over between people.

Subject to wires that make us electric and indebted
we move. Are moved. In four nations and more families
linked across fields of cause and carelessness,
reasons crop up and weedlike get cut down.

The sun and the oud. The chicken with no head
and the pregnant goats. Roads covering stones covering
history. Impoverished, luxurious and invisible villages
of the likeminded. The promise of fertility in chrome.

Single jackals escape while sheep in herds swallow
whisky and pills to run from help. Crying and cajoling
are cousins peeking at not innocent nakedness,
wanting peace in ruckus like white hair in black.

Without knowing what bumps will come we make our own
potholes. Looking away deepens them. Shadows make
their way their way through desert hills, like a fancy dress
finds its way to a wedding in a cemetary.

Everything I am telling you is key to the story
of how being the only victim is no salvation and
how being the outsider is no damnation. The ugly
beauty and the open eye are the most unexpected.

The obvious direction leads nowhere except between
two accounts of how there got there. What was best
for you took a left turn before any signs were seen,
or planted. There is no need to apologize.

Who will save the saveless? Not cops, or madonnas,
not pots of gold, not dreams come true, not doctors,
not being good. Who do you think you are? You are
not that, but you are a leftover, and will be gobbled.

There are sacred towns around the world
in circles like necklaces, units connected by silk
thread spun from babies and suicides. Calm
and confident are the survivors, they think.



About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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