To whomever anonymously
sent the prayer books,
Living in this womb of misinformation,
symptoms of toxicity, self-loathing
fear of everything not you,
a political ignorance necessary
to feed the cancer of cult.
Creation of a realm where facts,
what really is and happened,
are suspended until modified, rearranged.
Masculinity must catch up, make cruel,
a life with no smiles, not much pleasure.
Waiting for the next indiscretion of the other,
with no papers that say they are like us.
Life in this wilderness looks the same:
job, two cars, two children, Bible
on the coffee table, sure that Christ approves.
Thugs in masks, disappearing, terrorizing children,
troops in major cities — hope is a birth back to truth,
to an America where cognition works,
where conspiracy isn’t considered the grail,
crassness isn’t what gives meaning to.
Empathy works its way through bricks
of hate, of fear, of histories rewritten. The book
on the table is read not held upside down.
The red lines provide a path: some will die;
everyone else will need to love thy neighbor.
***
Reckoning
There is a white throne surrounded by
seven golden lampstands blazing the
seven spirits of God.
A foster mother testifies, tells of her kids
being abducted on the way home from school
and deported. She pauses, cries, then
declares – There needs to be a reckoning.
Think, answering for what you’ve done,
the final judgement, called to account,
after Armageddon made to answer for
the traumatizing and killing of children.
There is no pardoning unpardonable sins.
Satan’s closing argument is powerful.
If you believe and seek forgiveness you will
be saved is our basic tenet, says Christ.
God is on the bench listening intently; there
is no jury. Satan, prosecuting, gives Jesus,
the advocate, the floor. We are looking for
remorse, an apology, the ask for forgiveness.
The bench acknowledges taking children from
parents is not worthy of pardon, as is denying aid
from those being slaughtered by others who this
court has already condemned, but deportation is also…
The defendant rises, puts down his diet Coke,
wants to speak in his own defense,
immediately is denied a postponement,
for what he says is, Time to prepare a new defense.
He wants new counsel, accuses Christ of being
incompetent, wants to know if Roy Cohn
is available, doesn’t like being advised that
the best defense is to apologize.
***
Proper Tools
We baked cookies, walked the kids to the bus,
mowed the lawn, talked to neighbors,
reveled in the peace of suburbia.
There were childhood anxieties, pubescent fears,
and young adult hatreds but they had lulled
into gadgets to be kept in the attic, garage or shed.
This was paradise, three bedrooms, three baths,
clubroom, the kids — but it wasn’t; it was boring.
There was no excitement, there was no primal inspiration.
And then, it was like a cumulative thing.
We went and got those stowaways, so neatly stored,
not so far away; just below the surface their need took shape.
It required a leader but only for the validation
of the coming together, the nurturing of the need.
We all knew, but for the longest time never said,
and now we were saying it not arm in arm, but collectively.
We had meaning, vindication; we communicated
our emotion. Social media broadened our community.
Fox confirmed our every thought, nurtured our fears.
We all agreed we were now, not just better:
with the proper tools, we were becoming great again.
