dear casimir pulaski,

what could i know of 
your home in Warsaw 1779, i imagine it blue.
if you hear me, will you just
give me a one-word description of the city, 
preferably a color?
there were sirens all over
your parade yesterday up 5th avenue, 
lights eating the folk music with forks,
all flickering red & white,
an ambulance driving up the side
of a skyscraper. i have to admit
to you now that i didn't know 
what the parade was for but i should
have. i should have known. 
of all your accolades i want
to thank you most for saving George Washington
in the battle of brandywine.
i bet there's still canons left in the dirt 
somewhere outside philadelphia,
the horses of your ghost calvary 
still searching for their knees.
i found one of their bones in bryant park
& i mistook it for a chestnut &
ate it. we meandered about a room where
every painting was of George & somewhere
a portrait artist is still telling
him to remain still. he crosses
his arms & thinks of you. we all
need a father, don't we? 
what did yours think of you?
a boy of revolutions, first in
poland & then in the states. 
will you, then, casimir pulaski
come back? i think we might need you.
i no longer believe in justice or
all the other words they brand into
the thighs of big buildings. 
maybe this is justice in someone
else's mouth. wooden teeth, obelisk.
ride a horse & tether it to my porch.
i'll let you in. i'm not usually
one to put my trust in dead white men
but there's something about you,
all the George Washingtons watching
your movements from their frames, 
their jaws locked,
their eyes gone dull. will you tell
us what to do? i hope it will
involve shovels to uproot
the old cannons. teach me how
to load a musket. i have to
warn you that the cops flanking your
parade had black semi automatics--
we, of course, have no chance.
tell me, have you ever thought 
you were going to die? i have,
but it's silly, it's all in my head;
the bayonets & the smoking earth.
i brushed up against so many bodies
in the city. maybe maybe one of 
the was you. can i call you 
uncle? a relic too my relatives 
who also dropped out of the priesthood.
what made you leave? was it god?
i can understand that. i think
that maybe god is red & white,
but certainly not blue. 
blue is too easy a color. 
it's not even a sky.