We’re lying down in a buzzcut field
watching gut-shot night sparkle &
shower us all in a hot fizzled glow.
Hiding inside ourselves as children
unsure how a country works. Rifts
excised for an hour. The distraction
of awe. Watching miniature flags
flap fiercely on thin plastic sticks.
Even the statues are forgetting their
lost battles. Moss is forgetting how
to hold the stone walls in place. So
much blue up there, our daughter
says. & reds, but together.
July the 4th
August 2, 2017 by 2 Comments
Lovely. This is an excellent reading, too, one that really enhances my experience of the poem.
Blues and reds…but together. A lovely commentary on our times