(no subject)

[cblj_backup]

I wrote this a while ago and I've been tweaking it this way and that ever since, so if I don't post it now I'm totally going to overtweak it into shapelessness.

And it's free verse! I don't even like most free verse.

Something to add to the poetry file, I guess...

MIDWEST

We didn't shoot off fireworks or shout,
Dance in the street, tell strangers the news.
We made no noise at all. It was
Incredibly, eerily silent that night,
The night this particular History was made --
The way it is on Christmas, on Thanksgiving day.
I joked we'd all already gone to bed.

Here in the open spaces our ancestors learned to be practical:
Not to panic, nor to show too much pleasure,
Turning impassive faces to the land,
The rain, the shaking earth,
The heat of summer and the snow.

I have seen us triumphant,
Hundreds-thousands strong,
But it is not the light or noise of others
In other places.

Instead I have seen a million stand,
Watching, quiet in the dark,
Waiting with half-smiles, drawn brows,
With flags about our shoulders
Or heroes reflected in our eyes,
A sea of the pragmatic.

We know, like you, that people, times,
events are History.
But so is the open land, the storm, the changing sky,
And fire, plague, and death.
The scars still furrowing our skins,
We have learned to respect History.

And to be wary of it.