Calling Him Back
Gabby and I made sure someone was calling 911
when we walked past the man in the Common
dying, the scrum of people around him, trying
to bring him back. Call him back one man kept
yelling, yelling Call him back! He can hear
you! Call him back! But we're afraid it doesn't work
like that. I'm always calling Billy back, walking around
Manhattan with Cheyney talking about the galleries
and books and good reviews that Billy doesn't get to see.
Fucken Billy, man, Josey says now, all the time, so
hurt that he has left us. Fucken Billy. What a dick.
Did the scrum in the Common try to call him back?
Were they calling him by name? We couldn't hear
what else they were saying, just Call him back, man!
Call him back! Maybe a low hum of oh my gods.
We didn't stop walking, kept moving through this world,
cabinet of wonders, horror show. Men dying in the crisp
blue of snow of nighttime, the Common's slack sad
loops of lights. We talked about Narcan, thank god
for Narcan, careers and confidence, women's bodies.
Cemeteries, houses, dumplings, love. Women's bodies
sounds like some hubba hubba deal. But I mean what
it's like from inside, bringing them with us through
the everything, these same dear eyes and knees
and nose. Fifty years of learning what the body needs us
to know. Right now my nose stings all the time, my eyes fill
with tears I am feeling things so much. It is a delight,
the feelings. The Change! Embarrassing, unfiltered, its manias
and tenderness, refurbished sense of wonder. Lucky us.
JILL MCDONOUGH is a three-time Pushcart prize winner and the recipient of Lannan, NEA, Cullman Center, and Stegner fellowships. Her most recent book is American Treasure (Alice James, 2022). She teaches in the MFA program at UMass-Boston and started a program offering College Reading and Writing in two Boston jails. Her website: jillmcdonough.com.
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