July 4, 2009
Variations on freedom
I
The ground is dry here
in late April
deep in the woods
beside a 30-foot cliff.
If we were to scream “freedom” –
and we have, repeatedly –
we would hear the wave
of shrunken leaves
the word carries.
While it’s strange to bring our abundance
here in a blue sedan.
we have what we need –
tents, food and comraderie,
the last wrapped in our sleeping bags.
We cook in a steel pot
until the wooden handle expands and comes off.
This we will leave behind and buy new.
We will stay here all tomorrow.
When we leave,
we will feel confident
we can make our own society.
We are our own society
but cannot stay.
We must buy our freedom
and supplies to be here.
The forest sustains itself
for itself and we coincide,
grateful for its growth.
We have the conditions
to free ourselves
where we are.
But it’s not here.
II
Be here with me now.
We lie wrapped leg tight
under cotton.
This is little more than a cuddle.
But this is desperate.
This is what I want.
III
I didn’t wish to keep you awake
so I gradually wriggled off the blankets
and away from you.
We both shivered that night –
mine a hot, abrupt shiver
that drove me away,
yours, cold and gnawing,
wanting me close.
But this is what I do.
Rather than my uncertain reflexes
upset the sure balance
of a candle
set upon a level table,
I move away.
I need those I love
to hold me tight,
bind me with your arms
and a promise.
Maybe I should
let the candle tip.
Maybe I should
let the table burn.
Maybe if I let myself go,
I’d break apart
and swell into the air
like smoke.
IV
In a photo,
the smell of a crash
lingers around this boy
with a bloodied head.
Atop rubble, he is struggling
with a stone half his weight.
There is something underneath.
Assure me he’ll save it.
V
Thank God
for freedom in strength,
that outlaw mentality –
like the mobster
or the warlord
who builds a crony force
to defend what he has
and steal what he wants,
mercilessly
VI
War sanctions,
war mistakes
and war mayhem
have not helped
a people so unprivileged
by their long-time leader.
Shipments of wheelchairs have arrived in Baghdad
to help those with lost legs,
paralysis, traumatic brain injury.
Shipments continue.
When you bring freedom, military men,
can it be the kind that sets people free?
Wheelchairs, while opening the world
to the places where we are welcome,
are like stockades:
We cannot move from them
and everyone sees our burden
in the center of daily life.
To really help, to really bring freedom,
we must stop the wars
and engage in another conflict
for true equality,
true choice,
true humanitarianism,
truth.
VII
Under the influence of power,
tirade, barrage,
I’ve forgotten
the power of myself.
It’s slipped away,
in crescendos and lulls
like soil from a riverbank.
Alcohol’s eaten at it,
and amidst hangovers
I’ve forgotten how I lost it.
Believe it,
you worthless cripple.
All you do is break shit.
All you do is get in the way.
Caring for the less fortunate
has its limits, you know.
You inconsiderate asshole!
How dare you leave me
after all I’ve done for you!
You just use people.
I’m glad to be done.
This is self-liberation.
My power is the power of freedom,
