Having Survived Myself I Lean Away
You know that
but not
why
the mockingbird mocks,
or how one note
marries others,
forming blissful
chords. And the skies
flaring each night
betraying your willful
ignorance,
while you paint
the words for love
in seven languages
you can’t
speak.
Where are you now,
whose bodies
have you denied,
wrapped in linen,
bagged or boxed,
arriving unseen?
Sagging, I observe your
counted victories, the
smirk claiming
exceptionalism
and destiny or
nobility of purpose,
as even your own shadow
recoils.
This first appeared here in October 2015.
O at the Edges 
Rapier-powerful j’accuse
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Thanks, Dan. I didn’t mind W as a governor, but as a president he was lacking, to say the least.
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Intriguing – first half of this poem is beautiful, then it turns and leaves me appalled.
And the title – “myself” as survivor; “myself” as the opposing force. Many ways to read this one, but they all lead me to angst for Ukraine (and for many within Russia who do not support what’s happening).
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