Monday, March 10, 2014

Another poem. Let's call this one "portals"

In the dream
The South had won the battle
by defenestration.

The Confederates had built windows --
in the air, above the ground, hanging in space--
they had thrown the Yankee soldiers through them.

Or perhaps they had only incited them to.
Or lured them to.

On waking, we talked about windows.

Windows are portals you can only look through, my husband said
But doors are portals you walk through.

And still no meaning came.
Why would the Confederates win by windows?

And then I thought: Civil War.

And it occurred to me:
What portals have I walked through when I should only have looked?
The distinction is movement.
The distinction is trying to enter into the dream.
That’s the Civil War, isn’t it?
That’s how we war against ourselves.

That’s how the liberators become oppressed:
by walking through windows
high above,
hanging in air
and a long long way from solid and hard ground.
One does not walk through windows, Silly!

And doors are connected to stairs and floors and solid ground.

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