The Public Private Face

Sitting by the lake
Tossing shiny pebbles in.
Where are the monsters?

Today an educator spoke of
A "cradle to career pipeline"
As if our children were a commodity
To be pumped out of women's vaginas,
Transported to a facility to be refined,
And brought to the labor market
As efficiently as possible.

He is wrong.

Our children are the rich brown soil
Out of which the future will grow
And will be best cultivated
By allowing them to be carried along the river of growth
To accrete into the alluvial delta
Of tomorrow.

The river, the one they call
The Drowningtide,
Appeared out of nowhere one spring,
Rushing across the furrows of tilled land.
In its wake, it left mud and death.

For a time, the dirty water flowed,
Cutting its channels through croplands
In a manageable current.
It irrigated the growth
Of useful things,
Of things that could be sold,
But it was always there,
Always covering land that before could be planted.

Sometimes, in the heat of summer,
It would dry up,
Teasing with the possibility of reclaiming those acres.
That was never wise.
The Flood was always in the offing,
Waiting to tear down the new growth.

In the evening,
I often sit on its bank,
And wonder if the day will come
When I throw myself into the river.

May I have a word with you?
It will only take a moment.
One word
Seems so small,
Of little moment, as one might say.
But a word, a word is so much more,
Its countless shades of meaning,
Layered one upon the other,
Mocking the tiny compartment
In which the dictionary would have it.
A mountain of experience
Has shaded the nuances of every word ever spoken,
A river of tears,
An ocean of memories.
Each word calls forth a thousand pictures,
Every one with its import,
And I am just one man.
Hundreds of millions of lifetimes
Have constructed every verb,
Informed every noun,
Impregnated every adjective.
All the weight of the world bears down
On a handful of letters.
So, if you have a moment,
I’d like a word with you.

Do you remember that time
When we didn't go skating?
I think I was in seventh grade,
Or maybe I was in eighth grade and you were in seventh
In different schools, and we hadn't met yet
And we didn't go skating
Together.

And do you recall
When we were in high school
And we didn't go to that movie?
You know the one, it had Michael J Fox in it,
Or maybe it was Harrison Ford,
And my friends and your friends
Were different sets of friends
And we barely knew each other.
To this day I can't forget
All the fun we didn't have.

Oh, and the dance we didn't go to,
Do you remember that too?
The limousine we didn't rent,
And the dress you weren't wearing,
And how nice I didn't look?
That was the night I didn't tell you
How I felt about you
For the very first time.

I still think back often
On all those years after we graduated
When we weren't dating.
There are so many places we used to not go together
That are filled with the memory of the absence of you.
Whenever I sit and drink a cup of coffee
All by myself
It's always you I'm not with,
In my mind.

Sometimes I reminisce about
The wedding we didn't have,
And quietly reflect on
The children we haven't raised
As I sit up late at night
Instead of going to bed
Without you.

Today, I am feeling older than I am,
And each day a little more so.
I can sense myself slipping away
Into that darkness where I can take no companion.
Through all of life's turbulence
You have not been here,
And now at the last you remain
Away from my side.
This, this only,
I regret.

You are the pleasant unreality
Behind my eyes.
You are the tinge of sensuality
In sunset skies.
When the night is over
And when it's time to wake
And I succumb to gravity
While rising from the lake,
You are my breath of air
As heavy, wet despair
Pours into my lungs with every
Gasp I take.
My ears fill up with thunder
And I realize
You are the branch that holds me under
With love-sweet lies.

She stretches forth her arm, her open hand,
Averts her pallid face, and lifts her chin
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

Her pose insists: "I know you understand.
You know my need. Now let the game begin."
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand.

Her finger, scarred, recalls her wedding band,
Removed in contemplation of this sin
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

She waits there, silent, full of cold demand,
A waxen lover made of parrafin.
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand.

She is a statue sculpted out of sand
That starts to crumble as the tide comes in
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

And at the edge of darkness, there I stand,
So captivated by this mannequin.
She stretches forth her arm, her open hand,
As if she's had this whole encounter planned.

I saw a man inside my head
Who filled my heart with fear and doubt.
He made me wish that I were dead.

I drank my wine, I ate my bread.
I wondered, what is life about?
I saw a man inside my head.

He spoke; I think he spoke. He said
"You in the darkness there, come out!"
He made me know that I was dead.

I have a date today. I dread
He'll call it just another bout.
I saw a man inside my head

Who told me he would die instead
And save my soul from the final rout.
He made me wish that he were dead.

When sunset comes I'll go to bed
In silence, prayerful and devout.
I saw a man inside my head
Who made me wonder, what is "dead"?

In Madison, in streets in Madison,
The People in peace do assemble.
They fear their freedom is crumbling
As they hear their leaders dissemble.
The phrases of angry protest
In Wisconsin are heard loud and strong:
"Excuse me." "Have you got a moment?"
"Your pardon, this shouldn't take long."

"Knock knock." "Who's there?" "A citizen.
Be so kind as to let me in?"
"We're missing a couple of Democrats."
(But we know what state they're IN.)
"Has the Capitol room for some visitors
To view their Assembly with pride?"
"Why, the Assemblymen that you're proud of
Have all moved their desks outside."

In Madison, pizza in Madison,
Pizza and protest and singing,
And when push comes to shove there's a limit
To what folks will take before swinging.
If another policeman tells them
"Watch your step, there's ice on the road,"
The people will sing operas at them
Until all of their heads explode.

"Knock knock." "Who's there?" "A protest.
We've marched here to leave you this note."
"Will you give Mr. Walker this message?"
(He'll sure get the word when we vote.)
"We hear you have some policemen
Patrolling the capital halls."
"Well, they claim to be law enforcement
But they're busy holding their balls."

In Madison, Wisconsin, in Madison,
The blood of patriots flows,
Freely, hotly, and fiercely,
And the face of the patriot glows
With fervor, and passion for justice,
And the voice of an angry crowd
That makes its demands with civility,
Because it's rude to be too loud.

"Knock knock." "Who's there?" "Your teacher.
Your school library. Your past."
"Can we talk about next election?"
(These Republicans surely won't last.)
"The Court said to open the doors.
It's time to let us in."
The People are angry, and patient.
In time, the People will win.