Raise You Up (In Three Parts)
By JUSTIN KARCHER
Part One
When we pull into the parking lot of Silo City
we’re listening to Springsteen’s “Dancing
in the Dark” and I keep thinking how
there’s no sugar in our buildings anymore
no sweetness dripping from the windows
no hummingbird clouds hanging overhead
only the sounds of coughing and people
cracking at the seams
no live theater in five months, but here we are
SILENCE at Torn Space
it’s the end of July and the perfect summer night
clear sky and in just a couple hours
the moon and Jupiter will be playing catch with our eyes
the world is missing and we’re trying to find it again
think of it this way:
an optometrist closing shop due to Covid
imagine all the things they leave behind
like eye charts
and the letters – some big, some small – have nothing to do
because no one is looking at them anymore
so they escape from this invisibility
and float around our closed-off neighborhoods
trying to come together as one, to form words
and then sentences, to confront the silence
with the story of our times
doing whatever we can to make sense of this
and then there’s magic
or something close to it
when you shove anxiety to the side
and put on clothes
when you dig up your depression
just to kiss it goodbye
when you go outside
for what seems like the first time in years
Part Two
Before the show, we’re given specially made black masks
then we write our hopes or grievances
on pieces of cloth and drop them in a box
the visions we wish would go up in flames
I struggle with writing something transcendent
but end up writing, “Less pandemic, more poetry”
which is stupid and I’m disappointed in myself
then we follow this trail into a dusk lit field
where we sit on socially distanced tree stumps
a ritual of some kind is about to happen
the performers are also wearing face masks
and standing beside the old tree in the middle
there are wildflowers everywhere
and everything looks like a painting that catches fire
but will never crash into ash
anxiety in the air, but also hope
during the show, most of the performers are predictably silent
carrying rocks or seductions and wandering through the wildflowers
and tree stumps, sometimes they stop and just stare at us
and all we can do is stare back, maybe think about the last few months
how grief is a starving polar bear
that suddenly appears in your backyard one night
you two hit it off and go out looking for sushi but everything’s closed
you decide to sit tight somewhere and wait for the sun to come up
bellies growling like haunted houses wondering what it takes
for roots to regrow
during the show, there are hooligans in the background
playing with fog and painting our portraits, it’s like a bonfire
or silent movie learning what it takes to burst into color, we’ll never
get close enough to feel the heat and that’s okay, because we’ve had
enough combustion for right now, then suddenly we’re flanked by falconers
who start popping up out of the wildflowers, they let their birds fly free
but only for a moment, how beautiful though, when you’re finally
able to return home
eventually, a performer speaks and breaks through the calm
they recite our wishes or grievances we wrote on those pieces of cloth
merging them together so it sounds like one long prayer
and I can feel all the audience coming together as one
social distancing becoming more than just the space between us
our deepest desires are then set aflame before our very eyes
then as dusk begins to deteriorate, a painting gets hung from the tree
the show is over and it’s only been an hour, and I’m not totally sure
what I’ve seen, but it’s like the feeling I get when I’m done
with an A.A. meeting and I walk down their stairs and into the parking lot
and into my car and when I turn on the radio, whatever song is playing
it is the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, something has let go
it doesn’t matter what
afterward, Carly and I pose by the big tree and Eric takes our picture
Part Three
At Duende for the after party and everyone is talking about
the stars in the sky, there’s Jupiter, there’s the moon
what a special night, there’s a door out in the field
connected to no building and two soccer nets ready for action
nobody kicks the ball around and that makes me sad
but it’s okay, because everybody’s just excited to be outside
for Buffalo to be quiet with noise, for art to still be happening
some of the hooligans are drunk, one of them is trying to lift the others up
while singing, “I wanna raise you up” then they all start harmonizing
and it’s like something straight out of the Bible, like the fun parts
where the apostles are dancing so hard and they’re sweating so much
and Jesus is just turning their puddles of sweat into wine and then everyone
just licks it off the floor and it’s like this endless cycle of getting drunk
off the fun you send into the world, it’s like reap what you sow and for a moment
we forget that martyrs have to exist or that there’s a war to win
and that we’re simply content with just being here right now