February 2010

Cal Freeman


Cal Freeman was born and raised in Detroit. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals as Nimrod, Commonweal, The Journal, Ninth Letter, and Folio. He currently teaches poetry and creative writing at University of Detroit Mercy.

Abbott's Digital    

Here is why—you are not
of Detroit, but of a flatter land
if that is possible. Someone always
looks down from a dimension just above
and beyond these rhombuses and points.
                       That is possible.
You have no idea how
they look down on you,
twisting your pentagonal home
                    like a stove dial
so when you wake you face
the hypothetical east. After several hours you guess Tonight in answer
to that question implied by Always.
Always there is this steady light,
so when the downward look?
Do they always wear miner's caps
when they look down? Always
this light so when to bed
                   and with whom?
A camera, an extraneous hand
videos the neighborhood being
    foreclosed upon.
Here is why: to draw parallels.
It cannot be a square
but something more precious:
a slanted and four-sided figurine.
Heroic figures, drawn so small,
paralleling here to there and to here:
                 not an analogue.
Decrepit, you confess to crimes
you hadn't the dimensions to commit:
the pocketing of a DV camera,
the burglary of tools from a garage.
Lines, dogs grown more complex than      
               simple lines, prohibit.
This is the space we didn't dream,
the space once used by banks
to empty homes.



Cal Freeman: Poetry
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