It’s just that
coming home around six a.m.
I knew this place was Rome
four days after the sacking
I imagined the rescue of the children
hustled out of a crashing courtyard
in an old, blue Ford
Your crossword puzzles were everywhere
Like a bomb-shocked ancient citizen
returned to an unsettled wreckage
I stooped to finger what remained
kicking away impediments to see beneath
I bruise myself in recognition
of what’s been lost. I long
for familiar charged things
but am relieved at the devastation
Split, I lean and tremble
on what once was a kitchen table
I rake fear over my chest
I embrace myself
I will not let go
“Yes. I’m Present.”
On October 20, 2022, RIOC approved a tower, guarded its confusion and learned to mistake presence for consent.
It is October 20, 2022, and the Cultural Center Theater at 548 Main Street has again been made to serve as a boardroom, its folding tables carrying the temporary authority of the state. The folding tables are perfect for RIOC. They support anything, question nothing and collapse under pressure. At 5:45 p.m., Chair Designee Alex Valella calls the meeting to order.
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