Unsung
“Perhaps…every song has an unsung third stanza, something brutal
snaking underneath us as we blindly sing.” — from Ada Limon’s “Another Anthem”
Where do secrets lie? Truth hides, sometimes
out in the open, like when I pretend to know how
to eat a mango.
Is the third stanza unsung or do we deny
singing it?
The tea was too strong today, and yet I sipped.
That is how it starts. We sip and say nothing.
We listen to the sound of jets overhead
and fail to think of bombs.
I have never heard a gunshot but I expect to.
I expect everything. I am waiting
for everything.
These days there is a flatness like a Sunday
morning with no Monday in sight.
What if the third stanza of every song is the secret
of the universe, that illusive theory of everything?
Like a final crossword clue that makes the
puzzle pop into place.
But where does completion get us?
I am remembering the taste of that mango, how moist
in my mouth, how wildly sweet, how I tore into it
letting juices run to my elbows while I stood at the sink
not caring if I was viewed. How I held the pit
on my tongue until we were both spent.
Cultural Daily, June 15, 2025