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
You Can FOIL* It
When information is acknowledged, delayed, and withheld until it no longer matters, transparency becomes a process, not a right
On April 15, at the Steam Plant Demolition Town Hall, a simple exchange revealed something far more consequential than anything formally presented that evening.
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