Alison Luterman
PRAISE THE BROKEN PROMISE OF AMERICA
Praise deep mineral veins under rich dirt,
and fossilized remains of dinosaurs turning themselves into gas
for our benefit. Praise the exhausted earth,
miles and miles of subsidized corn
and cattle lowing from their hell-holes
in automated milking barns.
Praise farmworkers rising before dawn,
their sore backs and aching knees. Praise the myths
that drew them here, stories eagerly consumed
when there is nothing to eat but faith.
Praise the courage of the reverend to look
the dragon in the eye and preach mercy;
praise whatever hidden waterways are still pristine.
Praise music that refused to play at the funeral of democracy.
and the killing cold that swept through Washington
when the fake Pope took power.
Praise drag queens and lipstick lesbians, boys who are girls
and girls who are lions, butch women wearing tool belts,
and all the music theater nerds
who are even now building new passageways
mapping the next underground railroad
and suiting up to be conductors—oh, everybody,
get on board! This train will chug quietly
across the great plains and over rocky Sierras,
into the desert where people still leave bottles of water
and packets of food for the desperate
who have always been the lifeblood
of this nation. It will stop in obscure hamlets
to pick up fugitives with tears tattooed on their cheeks
and fraying backpacks overspilling with contraband books.
Praise the weirdos because if anyone can save us
it will be us. And praise all the glittering illusions
we gawked at, ignoring our own neighbors
in favor of a 24-hour peep show on the internet.
Praise the convict fire fighters on the front lines in L.A.,
battling the insurmountable for ten dollars a day. We gambled
our future for a hot air balloon with a hole in it. Praise
our reckless hubris, and the infinite distractions
of the hall of mirrors we find ourselves in now, and bless
our overwhelmed brains, scurrying like mice for shelter.
Bless our collective rage, and protect
the officers who stood up on January 6th and now see their attackers
roaming the streets like rabid dogs, ah, bless the animals
we have always been, in our coats and shoes
and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,
so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,
it can be seen from outer space,
where the gods are shaking their heads even now,
in pity and in awe.
--from Poets Respond
Published in Rattle.com 1/27/25
https://www.rattle.com/praise-the-broken-promise-of-america-by-alison-luterman/
__________
Alison Luterman: “The poem says it all. This past week has been heart-shredding. I’m not saying poetry can change anything right now, but it comforted me to write this, and I hope it offers comfort to anyone who reads it.” (web)
PRAISE THE BROKEN PROMISE OF AMERICA
Praise deep mineral veins under rich dirt,
and fossilized remains of dinosaurs turning themselves into gas
for our benefit. Praise the exhausted earth,
miles and miles of subsidized corn
and cattle lowing from their hell-holes
in automated milking barns.
Praise farmworkers rising before dawn,
their sore backs and aching knees. Praise the myths
that drew them here, stories eagerly consumed
when there is nothing to eat but faith.
Praise the courage of the reverend to look
the dragon in the eye and preach mercy;
praise whatever hidden waterways are still pristine.
Praise music that refused to play at the funeral of democracy.
and the killing cold that swept through Washington
when the fake Pope took power.
Praise drag queens and lipstick lesbians, boys who are girls
and girls who are lions, butch women wearing tool belts,
and all the music theater nerds
who are even now building new passageways
mapping the next underground railroad
and suiting up to be conductors—oh, everybody,
get on board! This train will chug quietly
across the great plains and over rocky Sierras,
into the desert where people still leave bottles of water
and packets of food for the desperate
who have always been the lifeblood
of this nation. It will stop in obscure hamlets
to pick up fugitives with tears tattooed on their cheeks
and fraying backpacks overspilling with contraband books.
Praise the weirdos because if anyone can save us
it will be us. And praise all the glittering illusions
we gawked at, ignoring our own neighbors
in favor of a 24-hour peep show on the internet.
Praise the convict fire fighters on the front lines in L.A.,
battling the insurmountable for ten dollars a day. We gambled
our future for a hot air balloon with a hole in it. Praise
our reckless hubris, and the infinite distractions
of the hall of mirrors we find ourselves in now, and bless
our overwhelmed brains, scurrying like mice for shelter.
Bless our collective rage, and protect
the officers who stood up on January 6th and now see their attackers
roaming the streets like rabid dogs, ah, bless the animals
we have always been, in our coats and shoes
and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,
so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,
it can be seen from outer space,
where the gods are shaking their heads even now,
in pity and in awe.
--from Poets Respond
Published in Rattle.com 1/27/25
https://www.rattle.com/praise-the-broken-promise-of-america-by-alison-luterman/
__________
Alison Luterman: “The poem says it all. This past week has been heart-shredding. I’m not saying poetry can change anything right now, but it comforted me to write this, and I hope it offers comfort to anyone who reads it.” (web)
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