Categories
Poems

The Plainsman

On the Plains

He’s a true plainsman
With dreams bigger than the town
And when the city limits expand
The plains dwindle down.

There used to be bison on those plains
But they vanished years ago
Then so did the rains
With the water in the arroyo.

He can see the ghosts of cattle
In herds of ten thousand head
Now there’s no more than the rattle
Of a snake in this homestead.

There’re no fences in his mind
Outside there’s wire running every mile
The unbounded country was lined,
Developed, and made infertile.

The prairie land
Once unpenned
Waves wheat like a hand
To an early untimely end.

His last sight of the plain
Is with a helpless glance
Like the land is a missed train
Vanishing in the distance.

Categories
Poems

Torture

 

IMG_4028
The ruins of Darul Aman palace, Kabul. 2009.

Listen! Listen. The voice was once tenor:
now, soprano.
Imagine—yes, and just consider—yesterday he was silent.
Our clips snap tightly, our pliers are handy,
our clamps are unforgiving, our machines
well greased.
Some things are working right around here.

We don’t even have to be too cautious.
As with all open secrets there is a
wink, a nudge to the vacillators, a cold
hard ethical argument to the protestors, and then
the show goes on.
The show must go on.

On the one hand we sit at a round table
and discuss the pros and morals of
torture. This, while people’s
worlds are being unraveled, a skein of
yarn held by a thread, dropped from a
tall building.
The demolition of a sturdy warm home,
tall, distinguished, memories in every cranny.
All that is left is the thread, the
foundation.
The skein, the home, the soul—deconstructed.
It is the metamorphosis of butterfly—
vividly colored, light—into caterpillar.
From caterpillar to cocoon. Cocoon to seed.
It is a human eclipse.
It is a vanishing.