Against the hot orange light of the ham radio,
the one your uncle bought at a Boy Scouts
of America rummage sale,
we trace the line between human and animal.
Vacuum tubes light the way down and over
the bodies that were, only hours ago, lonely
and plain, but now are holy and are moving
quietly against the world of this radio
It is a dense old blue thing, the size of a suitcase.
And as we place our faith in the memories of our instincts,
it too gets warm and lit and comes alive,
its 11 dials and 6 switches where you
adjust the pitch and RF Gain and notch frequency.
I watch the window of numbers
light up and hear voices crackle and sputter
as you cradle the wild and soft
girl-flesh under you and I want to tell
the fisherman in Alaska
something he can take with him. I want
what we are doing to be what everyone is doing.
I take the weight of you on top of me
and imagine that it is 1943 and there is a war
and we are two people trying to love in it.
And I come hearing British war correspondents
and Winston Churchill and we are one part
of the world then and now and always.
That we are someone and someone fighting
against the fighting this way and that way,
a pulling and tugging from knowing to not knowing.
From learning to teaching and back again.