LETTER TO A 19-YEAR-OLD REVOLUTIONARY

After Diane Di Prima

When I send a text message asking how
the interview went or how the resume
is coming along, you do not respond.

I try to reassure myself: This is normal
for you. You’ve been working overtime
at a job you hate. Maybe you stopped

for a beer on the way home. It’s the week-
end after all. On a good day you don’t carry
your phone. On a bad day, you ignore it.

But I worry, my favorite young anarchist.
I worry I’m colluding with the enemy,
selling out and selling you short. I ask if

you need help with repairs on the old van
you bought with cash. I ask if you’ve looked
at apartments with your brother yet. I make

excuses as I sacrifice the planet—for you,
I tell myself—as if you could outlive her.
But surely, she can take more hits than you?

I say this as if your fates were not so
intricately entwined. “There’s no such thing,”
you assure me, “as ethical consumption

in a capitalist society.” You say this to leave me
off the hook. I appreciate the pardon, but I
worry about you, working for too little pay

with scant protection. Forgive me if I wish
for you a good home, if not property, clean air
and water, your doctor bills paid, and for “America”

to finally mean something. You still keep
me up at night. No longer with a cough
or cry in the dark—no sudden light

in the hall. It’s been years since I could pause
by your door, lean into the jamb and listen
to you breathe. You took over my dreams.

I am grateful. Whatever I have
is yours. My phone is on.
Call me. Ask anything.

David J. Bauman has written three poetry chapbooks, most recently a collaboration with his son Micah called Mapping the Valley: Hospital Poems (2021) and Angels & Adultery (2018), both from Seven Kitchens Press. David has recent work in New Ohio Review, Crab Creek Review, Blood Orange Review, and MacGuffin.