American Litanies/December 2021
They came looking for us, unaware of Eric the Red
deSoto and da Gama
Raleigh and Hudson
Drake and de Leon
Magellan and Verrazzano
Champlain, Cabrillo, Cartier, Cabot and Coronado
clueless Columbus
his statues now defaced with red paint, broken noses on the ground
seeking those who trudged the land bridge looking for a home.
Now they speak
French in the South
Inuit in the North
Spanish, Chinese, Creole, Italian, German and everything else in the cities–
but only “American” on the Plains.
They grow
fruits in the West
grains in the Middle
liberals in the East
data sets on the coasts
microbes in the labs
hate everywhere.
They claim to be
democrats, demagogues, demi-gods
republicans, replicants
pedants, pedophiles
professors, professers
atheists galore:
Jews
Christians
Muslims
Bhuddists, Confucians, Zens, who can keep track
all confused, confounded, co-opted and conned.
They devour what they produce by
labor and lust
genius and greed,
power and perversion
hubris and history.
They slay their victims, and all are victims
kids and killers
tots and tyrants
students and scholars
sinners and sinned against
marchers and misogynists
whores and holies
white, black, brown, yellow, mulatto, tan, bronze
a palette of death.
And the killers are given
a skate
an escape
an injection
the gas
a book contract
a white pointy hood with a militia T-shirt
an AK-47 with inscribed golden stock
to boast on the dark web.
They sing of
starred banners
spacious skies
Abraham and Jesus
death and destruction
race and riot
peace and prosperity
rhythm and rap
blues and bitterness
usually out of tune, often alone.
They write
tracts and tirades
poems and porn
screeds and sophistries seething with
wrath and resurrection
flowers and fears
love and hate
revenge and revelation
revival and retrenchment
todays, tomorrows and, most often, imagined yesterdays.
They are
shot or sick
shot and sick
vaxxed or vexed
deniers dying
home-bound or hell-bent
young and uncaring
old and cowering
black and suspicious
democrats demanding
republicans rebelling
plane passengers punching
sick and tired and tired of sickness
seeking to regain their normal
not knowing that in the history of this world
what is normal is today.
They are this poet, this reader, this listener
in this moment and space
all sighing and saying it is for good or for ill
all knowing it is for a curse or a blessing
depending on where you have been placed by unseen hands.
About The Author
Stephen Honig
Stephen Honig has been writing fiction and poetry all his life. The sources of his writings are of course his life experiences: growing up in ethnic New York City; attendance at two alleged bastions of Ivy League erudition; a long career in the law with its attendant exposures to people, business and technology; reading everything eclectic along with alleged classics of the Western canon; wide travel including a gig in the USSR in the ‘70s to bring legal briefs to refuseniks; teaching at three colleges and at a law school in Russia; raising two families in very different generations. Now, Honig has completed his first novel, Event, a thriller combining the international espionage style of John Le Carre with the gripping pace of novels by James Patterson. If you’d like to sign up to automatically receive my blog posts, please go to the Contact page and submit the form. Thank you!