(from Robert Reich Substack) by Alison Luterman

PRAISE THE BROKEN PROMISE OF AMERICA

Praise deep mineral veins under rich dirt,

and fossilized remains of dinosaurs turning themselves into gas

for our benefit. Praise the exhausted earth,

miles and miles of subsidized corn

and cattle lowing from their hell-holes

in automated milking barns.

Praise farmworkers rising before dawn,

their sore backs and aching knees. Praise the myths

that drew them here, stories eagerly consumed

when there is nothing to eat but faith.

Praise the courage of the reverend to look

the dragon in the eye and preach mercy;

praise whatever hidden waterways are still pristine.

Praise music that refused to play at the funeral of democracy.

and the killing cold that swept through Washington

when the fake Pope took power.

Praise drag queens and lipstick lesbians, boys who are girls

and girls who are lions, butch women wearing tool belts,

and all the music theater nerds

who are even now building new passageways

mapping the next underground railroad

and suiting up to be conductors—oh, everybody,

get on board! This train will chug quietly

across the great plains and over rocky Sierras,

into the desert where people still leave bottles of water

and packets of food for the desperate

who have always been the lifeblood

of this nation. It will stop in obscure hamlets

to pick up fugitives with tears tattooed on their cheeks

and fraying backpacks overspilling with contraband books.

Praise the weirdos because if anyone can save us

it will be us. And praise all the glittering illusions

we gawked at, ignoring our own neighbors

in favor of a 24-hour peep show on the internet.

Praise the convict fire fighters on the front lines in L.A.,

battling the insurmountable for ten dollars a day. We gambled

our future for a hot air balloon with a hole in it. Praise

our reckless hubris, and the infinite distractions

of the hall of mirrors we find ourselves in now, and bless

our overwhelmed brains, scurrying like mice for shelter.

Bless our collective rage, and protect

the officers who stood up on January 6th and now see their attackers

roaming the streets like rabid dogs, ah, bless the animals

we have always been, in our coats and shoes

and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,

so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,

it can be seen from outer space,

where the gods are shaking their heads even now,

in pity and in awe.

—from Poets Respond

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Alison Luterman: “The poem says it all. This past week has been heart-shredding. I’m not saying poetry can change anything right now, but it comforted me to write this, and I hope it offers comfort to anyone who reads it.” (web)