Autofanfic

I always was a sucker for the stories
That went the way I hoped that they would go;
That opened up like shining morninglories
So perfect in their alabaster glow.
I liked to read of true loves reunited
Or recognized in those known for so long;
They always made me feel the most delighted
When I could harmonize the unheard song.
The stories that I liked sometimes meandered
Turning aside for twists, or turns, or bends
But (though some might accuse them that they pandered)
They always found their way to happy ends.
I always liked those tales. And now, with you,
I like them better, since they feel more true.

1865-

The statues once seemed reasonable: a sop
To those embittered, maybe even balm
To our hurt nation. But they didn't stop
The hatred. No, the papered-over calm
Was just convenient. We allowed their flag,
Pretended it was heritage and pride;
We named a fucking base for Braxton Bragg
Like it was no big deal--his was an equal side,
Valiant in defeat, but not a shame.
But it was always lies. We always knew.
It was just easier to play the game
For some of us. And now the debt is due
That others of us have been paying double.
Tear them all down. It is the lesser trouble.

After All

The stars are out. I thought I saw them once
On Earth: they almost twinkled through the smog.
I told my father; he called me a dunce.
The lights were Ships, the stars were dark. Agog
I stared then double-hard, and caught the gleam
Of sudden engines bursting into fire
And knew from then to now a desperate dream
Of Shipping Out. It was my heart's desire.
Our engines caught; we spun; I was amazed
Feeling the pull of gravity recede.
I thought it was a wonder all my days
Would never equal, and I had no greed
For more. But then I looked. The stars are there.
And I am struck beyond all past compare.

Work

I do not pretend I cannot err.
As I am human, as I breathe, I fail.
But I will claim that though I fail, I care
And do not let my failure set and stale.
I am, as we are all, at times the fool,
The idiot who knows not what he does.
But when I am, I try to, as a rule,
Notice and change. I am not who I was
Although my face may be as it has been
The mind behind it is, or tries to be,
A better person, not by lies or spin,
But by improvement and humility,
Saying I know that in me there is bad
But there is also better to be had.

False Equivalence

I do not tell you turn the other cheek
But I will note whose cheek it was was struck;
And who among you terrorized the weak--
Who was slimed, and who supplied the muck.
My eyes can see the difference between
A lynching and a protest and a war
And while no hands are ever fully clean
Some bear a greater load of guilt and gore.
Do not pretend that those who protest you
Are doing violence in disagreeing
Or that the claim that they are human too
Is prejudice against your very being.
We all possess a joint right to existence
And, that denied, to vehement resistance.

On Many Sides

Art alone can never be enough
But sometimes art is how we process life;
The road ahead (the road behind) is rough
And I can hear the shrilling of the fife
That whistles to the ears of those who think
That somehow they and only they are real;
Who judge all others by how deep they sink
And claim an injury when others heal.
Our country is a heritage we share
And only in that sharing is it free;
Those who imagine otherwise, or dare
To claim it for themselves exclusively
Disprove their own assertion in the deed
Impoverished by their own ugly greed.

Moonlight

However beautiful the moon may be
Shining eternal silver in the sky
I know it must appear more beautifully
Wherever you are watching it. And why?
Because the moon, astronomers declare,
Does not originate the light it shines,
But sparkles through the cold and empty air
Reflected sunlight that it realigns.
If this is so--as I have learned, and trust--
Then I am sure, wherever you may sit,
The moonlight that they see there surely must
Be brighter by the gleam you give to it
For when I see you in the night, you glow
More beautiful than any moon I know.

Dishwasher

When I listen to an empty room
And hear the music of technology
It seems--at least it always seems to me--
That what I would imagine lonely gloom
Is vibrant; as a long-forgotten tomb
Serves as the ground for new fertility
When seedlings root on its immensity
Bursting at last in gorgeous verdant bloom
So sound erupts out of the silent air
Reminding me I cannot be alone
Unless I choose it, as I sometimes do.
But there is lively music everywhere
If we but listen to the undertone
And hear the world we made for us anew.

Afternoon

The city glistens in the half-set sun
The towers catch the highest of the light
Shining their beacons on the streets below
Blinding those scurrying among parked cars
Towards home and rest. The day's long course is run
But summer will not yield unto the night
Clinging instead onto the partial glow
That turns the upper windows into stars.
This blessed time is easily let by
Lazed into nothing by humidity
Spent thinking only of the next day's race
But I believe between us you and I
Can find a use for its divinity
Seizing the pleasures of its offered grace.

Do

Never doubt that I believe in you.
Do not imagine, even for a day,
An hour, a minute, that I'd ever say
Or even think that you could fail to do
What you attempt. If you can't do it, who?
Who else do you imagine, in what way,
Is better? It is you who, come what may,
Will do what you have set your efforts to.
That does not mean I have a senseless trust
Ignoring every obstacle or bar;
I am aware, as all of us should be,
That there are roadblocks, as there always must,
But I believe from proof they will not mar
Your progress, and your possibility.