Scarecrow Calls Out the Man
These things I cannot name: that finger of night
between fear and peace, in which darkness both cloaks
and hugs the wide-eyed. A snake, in the open. And that space
behind the watcher? Perhaps it is easier to call it something
else – a gasp, or the immeasurable measure. A presidential
folly. My friends, ever cautious, swoop in and away, taking
with them only those grains they need, unlike you. What use
is a hoarded larder if it rots? How does one come to want
everything and nothing at the same time? A gilded house
spotlights wealth, not right. Is this edifice your legacy,
your monument to self? The heart monitor’s blip paints one
forever, your pursed lips, another. But even the concrete
you cringe behind lacks permanency; regard your hands
and all they can’t stuff into your pockets. Loosen that
coiled tie lest it choke you. Accept what the mirror sees,
and await karma. Though you will not hear my voice,
I offer this: may the combined weight of your lies and
larcenies, your unpaid debts and power plays, rapes,
casual racism, privilege and coarse, childish taunts, merge
into one fist-size bankroll placed upon your chest, and
fueled by the gravitational forces of forty-four black holes,
slowly, with each turn of the earth’s axis, press down and
down and down in search of that shriveled organ, and finding
it, pluck out and replace it with one resembling that of a
genuine human, one honoring respect and love, empathy
and humility. I am the sum of integrated, discarded
pieces assembled to observe and warn, collecting only
diminishment and the means to become less. Wanting
little, the world welcomes me. It arrives free, honest, on
wings, bringing wealth beyond your reach, your greed.
I own nothing. I know nothing. But this: I name you
Scourge, and laugh at the smallness of you. I name you
Farce. I name you Empty. I name you Gone.
* * *
I feel old and tired and angry, unable to speak coherently. So today Scarecrow’s voice will have to do.
“Scarecrow Calls Out the Man” first appeared on Vox Populi in August 2017.
Amen. Amen. Amen.
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The last three years have been trying. The past week has been outrageous.
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WOW! Can you foretell the future?
Mary Jo
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Well, Scarecrow might be able to.
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Scarecrow says it well … thank you for channeling!
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Despite moments of sublime joy, I’ve been in a funk for much of the last week. Strange, horrible times.
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May those names come true. (K)
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The sooner the better, Kerfe!
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Had to share this one.
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Thank you for sharing, Joanne.
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I find this astonishingly powerful …
Though you will not hear my voice, I offer this: may the combined weight of your lies and larcenies, your unpaid debts and power plays, rapes, casual racism, privilege and coarse, childish taunts, merge into one fist-size bankroll placed upon your chest, and fueled by the gravitational forces of forty-four black holes, slowly, with each turn of the earth’s axis, press down and down and down in search of that shriveled organ, and finding it, pluck out and replace it with one resembling that of a genuine human, one honoring respect and love, empathy and humility.
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Thank you. Though it’s been three years since I wrote this, it seems even more appropriate today.
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