REQUITER
requite v [re- + obs. E quite to set free, discharge, repay, fr. ME quiten — more at QUIT] 1a : to make return for (as a kindness, service, benefit) : REPAY, REWARD b : to make retaliation for (as a wrong or an injury) : AVENGE
Webster’s 3rd International Dictionary
She waged a war for
love; she waged labor.
A new commerce was borne,
call it “the gift economy”—
labor of love. As in “mother”
which means tethered to others
in this and every tongue.
Sleep debt cannot be spent down
or paid in full; it only
carries forward.
She woke from the dream
of a sixty-four-page poem
to Mama, I’m wet.
4 a.m., child back in bed,
she lies down again,
wistfully tries to re-enter
that dream. Instead,
a cold warehouse
full of books, none of which
bear her name.
In the plaza she wonders
What are police for?
It seems the perfect day
to avenge her loneliness.
Her hopes revised so often
she is almost a stranger to them.
And what, exactly, was at stake?
Leaf, brick, arm’s length transaction.
Dark with responsibility,
dedicated to industry & thrift.
The wolves wore uniforms
& guarded the banks.
Meanwhile the quotidian
incites crowds to sleeping or reading.
Unfolding action is what they desire.
Hope is the thing that weathers.
Watchless, she checks her phone
but her phone is dead.
Timeless, she is free if uneasy
to wander.
In the plaza, a bit of violent speech
followed by laughter.
Requite or quit, the moment
seems to say.
She turns away
to find a bus home.
The sleep debt is constant
it carries forward / it is real.
While others are being
teargassed in the plaza
she is folding laundry,
watching it on TV,
hearing the helicopters
in real time, their echo
on the live feed.
It is a warm night,
she could reach out
the window—
If you’re going
to the North County Jail
where florescence flickers
on the booking line
remember me
to one who waits there
she remains
a comrade of mine
Rest was something
to resist, like arrest.
She pledges allegiance
to the oak leaf,
is given short-shrift.
$122 left in the account
of which $61
is uncashed checks.
Yesterday’s winds
were casual.
Today’s seem filled
with intent.
She lies awake, obsessed with seven-letter words.
Purpose and persist, forfeit and strange, silence and obscure,
apology and regrets.
She might fix her own name to the list, but refrains.
Migrate and arrival, elegant and haggard, desired and settled;
anomaly, refusal, liberty.
Revenge.
To requite one must let
competing impulses
collide. What’s worse:
to be ignored, or actively
thwarted? In a sea of so
many arms, three guesses
may be the most
you will get.
Was ardor an enemy?
Having ventured there,
having been refused
(requite or quit)
(more at: QUIT)
Desiring more purpose, more perfume—
There must be another way to live
Kristen Hanlon is the author of the chapbook Proximity Talks (Noemi Press). Her poems have appeared in Colorado Review, Volt, New Orleans Review, Interim, Aspasiology, Posit, failbetter, and elsewhere. She lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area.