Saturday, May 24, 2014

The Migrations of No Ones


The Ships of States that lay out there
heaved a mighty sigh,
sending the No Ones scrambling—
some went here, some there, back and forth.
“¡América!  De ti cantamos.”

Are these the poor, huddled masses,
the tired, the wretched refuse, the riff-raff,
the dirty, yearning destitutes
scurrying toward our dim northern light?
Perhaps the border crossed them?

Someone called this a Promised Land—
Come get a new Anthem and a Waiver,
Officially written on Official Paper—
The irony of the so-called storied pomp?
Out here there is no Ellis Island;
no welcoming Madre de los Exiliados.

The kitchens are tidied by the riff-raff,
the wretched refuse mow the lawns,
the huddled masses harvest the fields.
Those Clever Foxes, wrapped in the flag,
call it The Invasion, with a clack of their heels.

The No Ones ask:
“Where is your celebrated lamp?”
“Where is the golden door?”
“¿Por qué sea tan difícil?”

E pluribus unum?
Not so much.
At that, the No Ones cry,
and no one says Amen.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Elk Prairie

first I fell into silence and nightfall
wishing to be finished with unnecessary things
then it rained steady and windless— 
I lay awake under my taut canopy
of thousands of little drumbeats

water ran off the two lowest edges
the foot of my sleeping bag soaked through— 
oddly my feet were refreshingly numb
no sleep will be had tonight I thought
yet I did–and how I don’t know

at sunrise (a peek-a-boo through the clouds)
a dozen Roosevelt Elk
of formidable stature and beauty
stood around my water-drenched shelter
they were covered in droplets collected from the mist
that brought the meadow back to Earth
from its nighttime Journeys

they shook water into crystalline haloes
backlit by that early peek-a-boo
I sat up–knees at my chin
and gazed at this extraordinary scene
accepting its invitation to pray in gratitude—
I’d guess the Elk
being far smarter than I
saw me as harmless—

we must have traveled together for the night
with the rainy meadow on which I slept
through a portal into another Silence
from which we returned I’m sure
having touched the heart of God