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Where
I Sit.
sitting
in the sun
coming through window
just ahead of 9 a.m.
not much hungover
schoolkids play
across the street
nothing but joy
in their screams
the days
keep
slipping past
memories recede
even the horror
of last week
grows benign
when seen
from this
West Coast City.
I sneeze.
somewhere,
troops
are readying,
one mouth speaks,
40 feet respond
in unison, in uni-
form, United
States, just
following orders,
marching in circles
until it's decided
who'll pay w/
their lives so
that back home
tax dollars flow
[phone call
interrupts;
unimportant]
into
military
contractor coffers
officers, businessmen,
and our elected (?)
officials decide
the fate of the world
over drinks
at the club.
"People
are
expendable,"
they say,
lift a finger
to the barman
and shrug.
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| It was another
strange day. Lately, every day
seems strange. Received a CD for
my birthday from good friend John
in Houston--POET, a tribute to Townes
van Zandt. The second track,
TOWER SONG, performed by Nanci
Griffith, set me to weeping. "You
built your towers strong and tall,
but can't you see, they've got to
fall someday..." refers to a
single person's emotional armor,
but it's the same dynamic of fear,
isolation, and selfishness that
manifests itself in larger ways.
Feeling a strong need to purge, I
cleared off the refrigerator's
year-long accumulation of magnets
and mementoes, leaving only a
small effigy of the towers and a
sign saying NO ONE IS PERMITTED
BACK TO WORK UNTIL THEY HAVE A
GOOD CRY FIRST. Later, sitting
outside in the sun, I came across
this sketch and
poem, doodled and written
during a late-July visit to New
York City. I remembered very well
the peace and quiet that swept
over me in Central Park as I wrote
it, tho at the time I thought it
was balderdash and felt too
embarrassed by intimate bodily
function represented to post it.
Until today. I think it's time to
get over our shame. Cry out loud
in public. Share how we
feel. Otherwise, off we'll
go, like sheep, each locked in his
or her own private tower, only
guessing at how each other feels. |
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