The air in my barrio bulges with ash, the remains of dead poets, dried-out painters, and sick-sounding musicians. Skeletons of talento that never found breath.
I sit, estancada, in this hole, condemnation filling me. My dying ideas crinkle and shuffle but no one, not even the flea on a cat’s hairy back, wants them.
Dreams peak in my mind as dusty dirges, polvo floating down Figueroa to settle, abandoned. In a one-room apartment the homeless grow and light fires for the warmth of words I will never write and they will never hear.
This simple happening dazzles me, like most of this former marine lieutenant's poems. "Laying On of Hands" is about a random encounter with a stranger caring enough to touch "a plain woman" who was "weeping/on a bus bench." I wondered at first, Is that...could that be an angel? Enough clues are here--"the stranger," "flight," "unfolding wings," even the title, but I can't prove it.
Only with dogs and children and sometimes a woman weeping on a bus station bench, hands folded across her face like a veil.
The stranger passing can only bring himself to stand beside her, allow his hand to settle on her shoulder, fingertips touching, then lifting, then lighting poised, muscles taut for flight at the first ripple.
Only in a public place: soldiers too sober to notice a plain woman on a bench. Widows on pensions, touring America, passes clutched deep in pants’ pockets. College kids lost in travel diaries.
Only the janitor, himself invisible as khaki, sees as he kneels beside the bench to save his back retrieving the paper coffee cup—its handles the halves of a valentine, unfolding wings,
a woman rising in a man’s overcoat, wiping her eyes with a wadded hankie and laughing at nothing . . . nothing at all.
Michael Izbicki grew up in a nondenominational church in California. A National Merit Scholarship finalist, he chose to go to the U.S. Naval Academy out of a sense of duty to his country during a time of war. At the naval academy he began to doubt whether the career to which he had committed himself could be squared with the tenets of just war doctrine. He got in trouble when he responded no to this exam question: "If given the order, would you launch a missile carrying a nuclear warhead?" After a four-year legal battle, the navy discharged him as a conscientious objector. Izbicki may have to reimburse the service for part or all of his education (New York Times, February 22).