A poem and reflection

W.

Those dead, the soldiers and brown boys
divined by a blonde child
in skeleton’s embrace—what?
It’s you, Elizabeth, wet woman
closing ’round me snug
so I push in your flesh
until my muscle spasms come
and isn’t that just syrupy french toast
at midnight. After, when we lie apart
naked limp—like a candle on the veranda
blown by wind and sleet to line smoke and one orange
ember—dry, wrinkled corn husks spider scrape
across the neighboring cul-de-sac and chalked foul
line through a gaping garage door to the sleek
gas car, a bench, and this yuppie cornucopia
of lawn and garden accessories

our blonde children with jelly toast
those dead with crisp, burnt faces

Photo by oohhsnapp, from Pixabay: https://pixabay.com/users/oohhsnapp-2309658/

I wrote this poem back in the early years of the Bush administration.

Life was simpler then, wasn’t it? Back when the War on Terror and the Iraq War were the worst things the president of the United States was up to.

It felt simpler. I feel like I had more clarity about the world – the good guys, the bad guys and where I stood in the mix. Now it feels like everything is topsy-turvy, mixed up and confused.

And yet I have also felt a new sense of possibility and openness lately. This year I’ve tumbled about, scrambled around, chosen one direction after another and made just as many U-turns – and it feels like whatever choice I make or direction I pick opens up easily.

That open-vastness-without-walls-or-barriers seems to be confusing in itself. It scares me, frankly; I’m unsure of it; I don’t trust it, which I think is what makes me balk and jump from path to path. But being aware of that freedom and ease is also pretty exciting, and I’m definitely committed to learning to live in it.

Freedom and ease. Are they aspects of a new energy emerging from this tumult? If so, they will be available to everyone, not based on exploitation or military conquest.

Now that is exciting.