Malcolm Cash

This Kind of Man

If I were another kind of man

I would not attempt to alter the

children’s vision of the Sea

If I were another kind of man

I would not hear

still voices beyond the grave

If I were another kind of man

I would see Iraq burning,

speak silently and pray out loud

I would not have blood

on my fingertips

from shadows of long ago

If I were another kind of man

I would ease into the morning sun

without ear to the ground

to hear my illustrious sisters speak

I would not listen for

Neruda or Pasternak or Forche or Sitting Bull or Coltrane

I would not visit cemeteries of dark women

whose hands did not raise me

If I were another kind of man

I would not pray over burial grounds

of grandfathers plagued by north american violent music

I would forget these men who stepped out of

themselves and danced to this unholy rhythm

If I were another kind of man

I would not sing to Rivers

or remember old songs

or unearth dead spirits

or till women’s gardens

or sit with men in churches

or carry my daughter into this Hour

If I were another kind of man

I would turn my ear

from calling blood

and seek out clocks for a sense of

Time

but I am

this kind of man

so I listen to Rivers

dance to eternal ghosts

and hold on to voices

which never die