I
tell you nothing new when I say
here
we are again, unable to claim
many
moments of relief
from
the confirmable gloom, though
there
was a time, before news became
ubiquitous,
when it was possible
to
close our eyes and hide in our rooms.
The
excitement of bones found
in
mass graves—not ours, the remains
of
mastodons and dinosaurs—told us
something
of our past. Now we see
face
down in ditches
our
neighbors with whom we once
broke
bread, whose children played
in
our yards, and everywhere
colossal
denials of blame.
I
tell you nothing new, Andre. I dare
boring
you, Miguel, with what
you
already know, the enemy
suddenly
the enemy, Down on your knees,
motherfucker,
for being down on
your
knees to the wrong god.
I
dare boring you because the shovels
are
blades, the dirt is bloody, and I need
to
remind myself of the creatures
we
are and have been—remnants
everywhere.No
need, really, to dig.
Stephen
Dunn
