I ponder the very existence of poetry
On the narrow trail in the Montana mountains
Steeped in fresh horseshit, still smelling like pine trees
Burnt shapeless, a destination wall rising as if from Westeros
Stretching to the limit of my eyes under long wispy sky
And the dirty window I’ve been staring out for twenty years
Only the parked cars and the neighbor’s decorations have changed
They removed the mailbox and left a patch of dirt
Does poetry know it’s poetry?
Is it self-aware, reflective? Is it kind, is it true?
The cleats of the high school footballers tear up the grass
On a field doubling as a dog park
On a street that is a former future fieldhouse
No new playground, swimming pool, sports fields
Only yellowing clumps steeped in dog shit
And the sirens. Fire trucks, ambulances,
The short yelp of unmarked police
Hightailing into alleys
The bitching and complaining about bike lanes
Bike lanes!
The CTA, piss and homeless people
It’s the mayor, state’s attorney, aldermen, democrats
Carjackings,
Screaming battery powered saws slicing off catalytic converters
Nextdoor: I saw a Black guy, he was suspicious, he was Black
Are we heading backwards, erasing the gains?
Progress a red herring, a blue state projection?
A teacher risks her job to teach a banned book
School boards using WOKE as a sword
Not a shield.
You can barely see the computer on my desk
Or find anything on the floor
There is shit everywhere
Backpacks, discarded clothes, things my kids dump, boxes of photographs, shoes,
leaning towers of books, bike equipment, label makers, printers, headphones, folders, candles, broken picture frames, wrapping paper, a fire extinguisher, cash, a tire gauge, thumb drives, binder clips, a combination lock, taxes, a makeup bag, a shoe horn, chapstick, a level, holiday cards, receipts, bills, a knife, a radiator key, a three foot tall stack of New Yorkers that I haven’t read yet
I needed a zip tie for the washing machine
It was under a measuring tape, a phone charger, a new bottle of conditioner, an almost empty pack of spearmint gum
Is there metaphor? Must it rhyme?
I bike five hundred miles in seven days
Helmet, gloves, bike shorts, all-you-can-eat buffets
My daughter to my right, keeping pace, pushing her comfort zone
In our group, she passes, she’s accepted, and largely left alone
But we knew where we were, we know for now which states are safe,
In backyard tents, still ninety degrees, keeping faith in hosts
Who may promote the votes, the bans, the legislative hate
Drowning under the weight of this great state’s debate
In Montana, two hours bumping on a dirt road
Behind spattered hulking pick-ups with horse trailers
Over a clear sparkling river on a wooden bridge
The wind and our footsteps,
The sounds of open space, no human creations,
Torn between peace and singing for grizzlies
In Chicago, dunes, volleyball nets, a shabby wooden refreshment stand
Pretend you’re on Venice Beach,
A shirtless guy doing pullups on a park district exercise bar
Dogs barking left and right; ragged jogger’s breath
Pumping by in blasts of heat and sweat
Sand in my walking shoes
The lake has a soundtrack too if you listen
Lapping on the sandy pebbles, tall grass bending in the breeze.
The waves, the waves, the foamy falling waves
I stood on a Fire Island beach with my father before he died
With my mother on the shores of Lake Zurich
On the day that Sandy Hook happened, I stood outside my son’s school
Silently with the other second grade parents
None of us spoke, our throats closing, our hearts racing
We nodded, downcast eyes, to signal that we knew
How lucky we were.
Do you remember Mandela’s freedom songs?
Shantytowns, apartheid’s dank inhumane prisons
I was fifteen, sixteen, watching in horror, disbelief:
Dreams of running, hiding. Suffocating.
Israel covertly continuing trade with South Africa
The Nazis themselves learned from American slavery
My kids say a lot of good you did with your straws and reusable bags and electric cars and glass water bottles and recycling and composting oh and do you know how many mass shootings there were so far
Just this year
Is the Original Sin
Just more white noise?
How Kyle whatever the fuck his name
Came to shoot protestors
And then shot them
And was acquitted on self defense?
How do we lie ourselves to sleep?
While Texas, while Florida
Desecrate healthcare in the name of children
Healthcare! Healthcare!
How do we sleep?
While a million people’s homes are bulldozed
27,000 people murdered
Get up, go to work, come home, make dinner, go to bed
I hear downshifting engines outside; a school bus, a garbage truck,
I have enough food: for my body, for my heart, for my mind,
For my soul, art on my walls asking hard questions
The pleasure from a mouthful of hot coffee
The sky is a dull white backdrop today
My knees creak as I stand, the lights still on
The radiator humming, the shiny floor
All the shoes piled by the door
Wires and candles
Dead birthday flowers.
everywhere tints childrening 
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