Prayer for Wilt
Wilton Norman Chamberlain, August 21, 1936 – October 12, 1999
By Morgan Zo-Callaghan
so long, big dipper.
you—so long, longing,
—were you—reflecting? critical?
inner warrior against racism,
fit athlete, sweet pleasure to meet, legs still fleet
under blue, furry white skies—high fives
venice beach leisure. eternal rest, eternal activity,
conscious alive circle
passing to realms of mystery
your spirit’s next curiosity.
bye, elegant solitary man, human, hummin’ man.
thanks for sharing your glories
artiste, playing basketball
hoops, round ball
like earth
joy uncontained, the man in the boy, you, gracefully tall
quick wall with a finger roll
century of points: one game!
scoring, exploring women too
loving, bragging
abusing, respecting, growing
glowing in the mirror above your bed.
you—disliking “hero” tag, people’s person
learning kindness
ciao, hasta la vista
to the ineffable unknown may you go,
continue growing tall
passing through that wondrous door
go where you’ll soar, like you danced down a shiny wooden floor.
Poem for Elias
One day I arrived at the Adult School to teach my Basic Skills/GED/High School class in a computer lab/classroom. A weeping young Latina told me that one of my “favored” students, her cousin, had died. Elias was enthusiastic, a sharp, warm person, lots of fun, curious to learn and a hard worker. No doubt, teachers fall in love with their students. When I went home, I wrote this for Elias’ family, and for my sad self. The family translated the following into Spanish and read it at Elias’ funeral service.
Sure, the other night I could reach up
hug happily kumquat stars kissing in the black galaxy
breathing cool air, transported, away from damaged dreams
soft silvery soaking sorrowful rain tonight
pattering stinging my lamenting arched face
under golden green lemon tree
dark after midnight now, teen boy-man, Elias
dead so suddenly
Mother screams hot pouring tears
We’ve lost you, Elias, like we might a sacred jewel
don’t let us keep you here,
fly away, sweet buddy.
How I clench my life
as if I could survive Señor Muerte,
thief again on this black drenched night