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Twenty Years

Twenty years later and this is still the only day in American history like this. (Except the burning of the White House, War of 1812, 8/24/14, a response to York.) That is what  we felt in those days. In WWII this is what Europe looked like, a continent. This is what it looks like when war happens. This is what traumatized  a nation. In twenty years  many things have happened since. Incredibly, it took no time at all to forget how that day felt. No time at all, and there were people who argued it was staged. That’s the world we live in. No time at all and politicians started thinking, “We will lose power if this remains the narrative.” No time at all and the reality of a war became a preamble to twenty years  of claiming it was America that turned aggressor. Twenty years and they still work to identify  the bodies. Twenty years of victims. Twenty years, a lifetime  for a new generation  born after and growing up in the shadow of fallen towers. Twenty years after a morning in which I wa
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6th

Birth I wasn’t there When you were born. I was in a parking lot At L.L.Bean When we got the call. I was in Maine. It was four months after She passed away When you were born. It was two months later When I met you. Pepe and I drove to Virginia, My second time there. (There will be other times To describe the first.) One brilliant short week And then back to Maine. And then one month And then a long time Before we parted again. A very, very long time. The best time Of my life. The first year Of your life. *** 1st The Breakfast Club Gave you the bucket hat  On your first birthday. You loved your time With them, A whole suite Of grandparents, Including Charlie, The oldest, The most frail, But you kept him Somehow young, For that brief moment in time. You toddled, And you blossomed; I don’t know, This whole year Floated along somehow, And so much seemed So natural. *** 2nd And in September  We traveled up to Maine To stay with Pepe  For a year And Mommy went  To Korea Into a phone, And thi
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…Long Live the Warrior

I wasn’t there when she was born And I was not there when she died. In fact, I missed a chunk of the beginning  And too much of the end. But we had a lot of time In the middle. I still will never be able To account for how quickly  She attached herself To me. She was somewhere in the ballpark Of nine months old (Human years) When she plopped herself In my lap, Like her human sister would In later years. I was not a cat person Before her. But then it became impossible  To consider my life Without her. She was a very furry cat. I would joke that she wasn’t born; She spontaneously poofed! into existence, And her fur was always there And it always would be. Even very recently, And I haven’t lived with her in two years, I found a large collection of fur Trapped behind books. She was special. She was unique. I reference her to myself All the time And this will never stop, And even this morning  I modified another U2 song For her, A song for someone, Someone like her… She has died But she wil
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Lilac Time

When I think Of nursing homes During the pandemic, Which seemed to transform Into ever more certain Incubators of death, Toward which we seemed To resign ourselves, Taking no measures Except ceasing That last mercy, The last manifestation  Of hope, The act of visitation, I think of my mother. Six years ago today, And as I write these words I wonder what she was Experiencing  Even during these moments. She was dying. I was working My last night shift  At the second of three Locations For a company  Best known  For a rubber and leather boot, A curious creation Always in the middle Of one thing or another. And always, I find myself  In the middle Of that day. When my father and I  Arrived for the first Of our twice daily visits  We found her breathing Heavily, Shallow, Great sucking efforts, Loud, Discomfiting. They told us She was dying. They told us They didn’t know how long It would take. This was towards nine, About five hours From when I am  Writing now, Six years ago. It was difficu
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Sometimes a Backbone Needs a Spine

You don’t need whips To be a despicable boss, Slavery doesn’t need chains To be reprehensible, You don’t need to forcibly import the labor To have a workforce that needs to be freed. It’s not good enough to say, “Well, no one else wants to do it.” If you create the conditions  Where that’s even possible, Intentionally or otherwise, Of course that’ll be the result. But you need voices Willing to point this out. The unspoken, The thing So easily taken for granted, Is wrong Regardless, And will always need Correcting. On this soil Or elsewhere, Dignity is a language That must always be  Defended.
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All My Favorite Colors

I don’t know, I’ve never particularly  Had a problem Integrating the world. But that’s the problem That so often happens  For others, And I think It’s the biggest problem. It’s great to know How things are different  But to keep them Locked up in little boxes, Separate, Apart, Deliberately, Defiantly, Angrily, Defensively, As if something will be lost... And I get it, Sometimes  There have been efforts To lose identity  By force, To integrate By eliminating  A minority’s features, And that was always wrong. But it’s also wrong To repudiate The melting pot. It’s wrong To rob yourself Of the ability To embrace unfamiliar things Because you think  It might threaten  The integrity Of what you’ve got. But listen, You have no integrity If you fear such a world. You lose far more Than you retain If you hide from The possibilities. If all you experience  Is an echo chamber Then eventually  You go deaf. So this is a message For all my sisters and my brothers.
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The Meaning of the New Fade

In such an age, Only a paradox Could explain it, Only the New Fade, Which is fast & slow, New & old, Smart & stupid, Left & right, Up & down, Meek & bold, All of that All at the same time, Like the Three Stooges Caught in the doorframe together All the time, The pace of change On fast-forward and reverse, Good & evil Caught up in a trap Together, And everyone labeling everything  To their convenience, The meaning the biggest loss In all of this, Meaning meaningless, Waiting for another day, Waiting for the barbarians, Maybe, I don’t know, The true history Caught up with silly & profane songs, The queen bee pulling faces Setting up the paces Going all the places We can see on a vista But won’t understand Until tomorrow, Much as we believe otherwise Today, An act of faith In a faithless age, The face of Ellah Blazing in a valley Of history, Of Value, Faith repurposed  As something older, Renamed, Made urgent, For the economics, To save time, In case there
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