We Have Family In...


I was wondering about you today—
wondering
what good is my art
when your belly is hollow-empty
and your body is limp and dark
like storefronts in a beautiful, bruised city
frozen in a forever of blood
and bombs with PhD's.
I would offer you this poem
or a painting
or a sculpture of fists-clenched-hands-raised
but what good is art
when I am supplementing it with
gas masked fear of arrogant pandemics?

(we join hands
dance rings around presidential rose bushes
pockets full of dollars and dinars
ashes…sand…
we all fall down
shouting "Allah!"
and "My God!"
and "Eloi, Eloi, lema sebacthani?")

In my pride I want
to offer you bootstraps
to pull yourself up by—
and informational pamphlets
dropped from the sky
so effective
they'd knock you unconscious
if you're not looking up
to me.
To US.
and this most dysfunctional hate affair
situated at the terminus
of a long, cold century
we spent hurling insults
and small children
at ideas we did not understand—
our ignorance filled in
for the now out of fashion
concept of compassion
rationed out to hungry,
passionate masses.
A church
full of choked prayers
situated on a stage
where all the players never age
but only grow tired and dim
with each failed campaign
to Save the Earth,
Save the Whales,
Save the Unjustly Accused Locked Away In Jails,
but most of all
save us the last piece of mirth.

We need more reasons to laugh.
More reasons to catch this drift
of continental uneasiness—
move on,
shift our race out of second gear
turn ears
to the East
and eat art for dessert
once the stomach
is filled
with the peaceful feast.





copyright 4.7.03 -erm

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