Robert L. Dean, Jr.
3 Poems
Worn Out Place
that rut
in the carpet
of my soul
worry
worry
worry
and back again
can’t you see it
careful don’t fall in
quarantine old hat
for me
I shall not want
a shepherd
the world out of kilter
behind me
slams shut
a table
prepares itself
in the absence of mine enemies
anointing
I shall not want
the sheep
rattle chains
if only
you could hear them
a ghost I am
raggedy
threadbare
fluttering in the attic
of sanity
all the empty-hearted
drafty places
familiar
it’s my attic
after all
the world never visits
spring
summer
fall
winter
never knock
never wave back
I shall not want
don’t attempt
to tempt me
off my ledge
out of my furrow
yea I walk the valley
shadow death
fear thou art with me
rod and staff
yea though I thread
again
the worn-out place
I shall not want
green pastures
waters still
mine enemies cup
overrun
mercy all the days
in this house
I dwell
I shall
not want
righteousness
restoreth my soul
never
merciless all the nights
worry
worry
worry
can’t you see it
O can’t you
Night Falls
doors slam behind you
behind me doors retaliate
closing
slamming
do doors ever
open
whisper
the stars now ghosts
in our eyes
do we ever
find the key to what is us
stop this endless leaving
exit Exit X IT out
so many
doors
wide open when we moved in
one by one
we chop them down
kindle the pyre of misunderstanding
understanding all too well
the squeaky hinge
jamb out of plumb
cracked lintel
mislaid tools
the hiding of them sometimes
can we
feel the knob in our hands
comprehend the certainty of it
can we
turn it as if life depends on the turning
as if lives
in our eyes
night falls
and we turn
which way now
“Whipped Peter,” McPherson & Oliver, Union encampment, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, March 1863
The Last Slave
Who sold first
who purchased
African
Portuguese
does not matter
what matters
the spidery history
this man’s back
still with us
after all these
years
centuries
white knees
on black necks
nooses hanging
NASCAR garage doors
kneeling
standing
O say can you see
doesn’t matter
if the heart
is not in it
yours
mine
ours
feel the beating
bear the load
cry the tears
cut the chains
free at last
the last slave
the last master
this matters
O say can’t you see
I have a dream

*editor’s note: The poet uses the ekphrastic method, whereby the verse is meant to respond to a visual, either a photograph or traditionally a piece of art. In this case, the image of Peter appeared in Harper’s Weekly in 1863 after he escaped slavery in Louisiana, making it to a Union Encampment in Baton Rouge.
For further information concerning slavery’s continued impact on the life of Americans today, visit Project1619 by the New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/08/14/magazine/1619-america-slavery.html
Robert L. Dean, Jr. is the author of The Aerialist Will not be Performing: ekphrastic poems and short fictions to the art of Steven Schroeder (Turning Plow Press, 2020), and At the Lake with Heisenberg (Spartan Press, 2018). A multiple Best of the Net nominee and a Pushcart nominee for 2019, his work has appeared in Flint Hills Review, I-70 Review; Chiron Review; The Ekphrastic Review; Shot Glass; Illya’s Honey; Red River Review; KYSO Flash; MacQueen’s Quinterly; River City Poetry; Heartland! Poetry of Love, Resistance & Solidarity; and the Wichita Broadside Project. He is event coordinator for Epistrophy: An Afternoon of Poetry and Improvised Music, held annually in Wichita, Kansas. He has been a professional musician, and worked for The Dallas Morning News. He lives in Augusta, Kansas.
