Paper Bag Privilage
I am crumpled.
I am tumbling
through a busy street-
not lifted by this wind
but dragged.
I am breathing.
I am lucky
the paper bag is about
the same shade as my
skin so it's easy
to slip inside
and let the news drag me
away with the wind,
like the empty husk I am.
The horror of this moment-
like paper bags
tumbling between the tires
of cars moving
too fast to notice.
For once
the whole country has
"noticed."
but after all
it's just
so far away.
and life,
with its freeways
and interstates,
moves all too fast,
so what could be
a national conversation
sparking a new
definitive movement
to make a change
is reduced to nervous chatter
and 2 to 5 minute blurbs
on Fox News.
But we cannot.
We cannot stand by
and wait for this
nervous chatter
to dissipate
and agitate
yet again.
Not again.
Though I am empty now,
there is a spark.
I will fill myself with fire
and pass this flame
to anyone who will carry it.
Because although it may burn,
at the very least,
we may save our children
from crumpling
for fear of the future,
and from being sent tumbling
by the rising wind
of our choice
to wait.
This poem is about:
My country
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