For All You Gluten-Free Ragers

September 24, 2020

 

 

For all you gluten-free millennials (& more) raging against the corruption of our present moment: 

 

Yesterday evening, Breonna Taylor’s killers were left uncharged in Louisville. Most current events in America (and everywhere, but alas, we are American and so we are -- if concerned about anything apart from our individual hedonism -- concerned most with our own country and its woes) are beyond disturbing enough to keep people awake at night, so today I woke up at 3:30AM unable to sleep. In one snoozy blink, it was 7AM and I had been poring over the poem below for nearly four hours straight (aka, recording sentiments for one hour and flipping through a thesaurus — my favorite book — for three hours). 

 

Of course it felt cathartic to write (as it always does), but with my deepest endearment I hope it might also be cathartic to read, for you who are still here after yet another year of me going silent. (Hmm, a theme to ponder.) Sending love as together we fight against injustice, greed, hatred, apathy, and progress toward something new. XX

 

NEW WHEAT

 

you burned the land —

this land 

with wheat fields waving

and dust clouds rolling,

to establish instead your city

 

and 

 

make monuments 

of bronze

and

tall buildings 

which separated

those who could 

and those who could not 

live within

the limits.

 

downtown margin bounds of 

classless structures,

architecture

built by destructors

and then you wondered;

why are the people starting fires? 

 

in your glass skyscraper

you were long unconcerned

with autumnal colors

or feuding brothers

near the lake’s rising tide.

 

disconnected from all that is 

raw,

terrestrial,

human; 

 

chaos scares you

oh it scares you now? 

 

now that your order is in place? 

your systems, which

ravaged (continue to ravage)

the earth 

and all she has to offer?

 

did you forget? 

 

how all that is 

raw,

terrestrial,

human 

will be returned

eventually

in a natural cycle

of restoration —

 

what did you expect from her?

 

you can 

construct walls

conduct house calls

obstruct justice with handcuffs

and throw away the keys

but you, too, live in an unbarred cell.

 

there is no escaping

that which has no limits.

 

there is only outside

where you must

confront your creation.

 

these streets,

wilderness of concrete,

bricks of someone else’s labor

made the rooms wherein we meet;

gluttonously incomplete,

while wasn’t this was made to be everything?

 

burn it back.

 

where might dusty, waving fields 

sprout between

shadowy towers?

 

and when will your fill

become obsolete?

 

burn it back to the ground

as before, until

from ash emerges 

new wheat.

 

 

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