Banango Lit

I (Justin) am writing a paper over this poem (I think) later this week and I think it is the best poem ever written and I want to share it with you:

My father built over me a worry big as a shipyard
and I left it once, before I was finished
and he remained there with his big, empty worry
and my mother was like a tree on the shore
between her arms that stretched out toward me

And in ’31 my hands were joyous and small
and in ’41 they learned to use a gun
and when I first fell in love
my thoughts were like a bunch of colored balloons
and the girl’s white hand held them all
by a thin string- then let them fly away

And in ’51 the motion of my life
was like the motion of many slaves chained to a ship
and my father’s face like the headlight on the front of a tram
growing smaller and smaller in the distance
and my mother closed all the many clouds inside her brown closet
and as I walked up my street
the twentieth century was the blood in my veins

blood that wanted to get our in many wars
and through many openings
that’s why it knocks against my head from the inside
and reached my heart in angry waves

but now, in the spring of ’52, I see
that more birds have returned than left last winter
and I walk back down the hill to my house
and in my room the woman, whose body is heavy
and filled with time