Existentialism as Evidence of Mercy

What wonderful fractionalities

pepper our moments!

How strange that such small


should butterfly up along

the gradient of time.

Picture this:

My chiropractor aunt,

collecting some coconuts from under the auspices

of palm trees (this is in Puerto Rico),

cracking them open


with a machete (their juicysweet guts flowing outward)

under the shelter of some plantain trees

in my grandmother’s garden,

and me

standing there wide-eyed

on the pavement lining the grass,


I wonder what I would be like

had I not seen that,

had I not been there

for that small moment of familial bonding –

and this when I was still quite young.

Or this fond memory:

me, sitting on an old ripped-out

armchair from ATW’s van,

listening to the creaking of the drumracks

(almost splintered by now)

and wondering which trees were cut

(and from where, exactly?)

in order to make those racks…

trying to listen to the history

of all the things in the room.

The relief comes in seeing

that we have such a

Merciful Mover,

else wouldn’t we have

tornadoed everything by now?


2 thoughts on “Existentialism as Evidence of Mercy

  1. Thanks, Dan. This is a poem whose meaning I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Like, the complexity and history of every single moment. It’s good to have something out there finally hat kinda captures it a little.

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