• confession

    by  • August 25, 2014 • america, community, poetry • 4 Comments

    There is no them.

    Only us:
    across the table,
    behind the wall,
    sharing coffee,
    passing the green beans,
    throwing stones,
    breaking curfew;

    armed to the teeth
    biting back with rubber bullets,
    cheering for little leaguers,
    praying for peace,
    marching in the night,
    hiding behind official jargon;

    joining in song,
    crying out for explanations,
    flying drones in acts
    of faceless violence,
    dousing ourselves with ice water,
    struggling to learn

    that life is more than
    a series of self-inflicted wounds.

    There is no them. Only us.



    Blogging since December 2005


    4 Responses to confession

    1. Julie Hughens
      August 25, 2014 at 8:32 am

      Wow, just wow. And amen.

    2. August 25, 2014 at 9:10 am

      Read a great story years ago told by a young man at a music festival in England — he was having a bad day and feeling paranoid and afraid and climbed onto a tour bus to hide. It turned out to be Captain Beefheart’s bus. When the band noticed him, Don Van Vliet walked over and said, “Who is this cat?”

      “Then I remembered my assumed predicament. How I was lost in Hell and all that sort of thing. So I hit him with, ‘Whose side are you on?’ He batted back with, ”Why does there have to be any sides? Why can’t it be like a circle?’”

    3. heidireneeturner
      August 25, 2014 at 10:03 am

      us indeed.

    4. August 25, 2014 at 11:00 am

      Milton, FYI, the direct link from my email notification to this post was broken. I kept trying and finally found the way through your home page. and I’m glad I did!

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