Your hand reaching across
the table with a nomad's empty book,
you tried to write poems once
but used too many words. Do
you remember your puppet feet
dangling in mid-sentence? Your
face frozen with false smiles?
What happened to this country, my
oh my?
And why didn't anyone say the truth,
is it now too late?
Was no one listening in the winter
of our silence?
Did Moses not lead us
to the Promised Land?
Was it not here? Is it there?
Did milk and honey turn dark and foreboding with
every foot of ground taken by the desert
battle waged? Is there reminiscence in the air?
Are your people not my people?
~A
http://www.alternet.org/story/154095/5_right-wing_governors_gutting_sch…
Comments
Too many questions
You know what you are trying to say. Say it.
It could be really fucking good.
I've written enough poems to
I've written enough poems to answer many questions, including these.
Sometimes it's better to leave the answer on the reader's tongue, Jess.
~
I can't help think of the sculptures of Henry Moore
you are right, of course.
title incomPlete
perhaps...
YOU Forgot to include the.....fuckers..
in your title