A Poem for 11/9

A Poem for 11/9

We have not won our future and—
they will diagnose why:
They will tell you so, what they
Already told. I want to know
what to tell, how

And whom.
She reads Mark 14
Which I have never done—
She can barely take notes with
Her scared hands:

“We heard him say, ‘I will destroy this temple made with human hands and in three days will build another, not made with hands.’” Yet even then their testimony did not agree.
“Signs of the End Times”

I see faces running through grief stages so
I handed my money, all nothing of it
to a homeless man
who tells me his truth:
You can fold trees into flame
On the twenty dollar bill

The ground underneath is AstroTurf and
Cambridge Common is beautiful in the fall
of our democracy — everywhere, red
and red and red and red like
a scream
There is always more

and fittingly it is raining,
the bus still goes to Watertown.

I mean to tell you:
I will never be too busy for you
in the street, your home or your
hiding places, though
I am guilty evidence of failure

I will fight for a time after the war
and for you, beautiful nasty everything
you.

Author: Brad Bolman

Brad Bolman is a PhD student in History of Science at Harvard University.

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