Michael H. BROWNSTEIN
SPRING, WEED, AND FINDING A PATH
Soon rivers will be hidden behind a gasp of trees,
Leaf will waken to the ends of wind,
And the ground will thicken into grass and turbulence.
A rising sun, wine red, like the brilliance of Torah,
Weaves strings of cloud into footpaths,
Avenues of bright blue across the water.
EISENHOWER INTERSTATE HIGHWAY SYSTEM
Illinois was the easiest.
We came prepared to cut
through forest and glacial
rock, but we encountered little,
mostly thorny brush, tall grass,
marsh, bog, swamp and mud thick
enough to grip to shoes. We washed
our face with mosquito blood
and rested in each other's shadow.
Heat melted rivers into shallow
pools and we ate tadpoles.
Farmer's daughters welcomed us.
We were the builders of the nation.
THE SOUND OF FEAR LATE IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
We talk about everything I don't want to talk about, and that is enough.
Quiet sings from beyond windowed walls
and earth does expose men gone to pieces.
It's just that machine-guns really are that loud
and there really is intrinsic value to pain.
My daughter asks if blood washes vegetation,
if words can come from soil when it rains.
I'm afraid I do not know if I will ever understand the answer.
NOVEMBER EVENING PROTEST, CHICAGO, 2002
I was there November, 2002, police fence posts of uniform and shield blocking exit and
entrance against what could not come: protesters with expensive cameras,
expensive shoes, expensive roller blades, expensive bicycles, expensive musical
instruments, expensive cell phones wondering aloud just when would be the
correct moment to make that important business call.
I invited myself to the party and could not stay.
Too often other people dream our dreams for us.
I was there chopping cotton for one dollar an hour, New Madrid, Missouri.
I was there when the tear gas canisters raged over the ground and sky, napkins with water
and McDonald's emergency breathing facilities, Washington, D.C.
I was there, dogs following at bay, blocking trailheads to the other side of the mountain,
Glacier National Park, Montana.
I was there laughing with Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman at my letterman jacket and I
did not steal the book, Chicago Seven Conspiracy Trial, Federal Court, Chicago,
Illinois.
I was there on the public sidewalks during the great grape boycott, Niles, Illinois.
I was there hand stretched to hand, Hands Across America, Central Iowa.
I was there eveningsong, Maryland hill country.
I was there the night Citizens of America who did not understand what it is to be a
Citizen of America threatened castration, Moratorium Against Viet Nam, Beaver,
Pennsylvania.
I was there at the raid of Reba Place Commune, Evanston, Illinois.
I was there the dawn missionaries stole all of the brand new shoes from the thrift
shop, grand opening, Berea, Kentucky.
I was there the night of the breaking of the window glass, Michigan Ave., Chicago,
Illinois.
I was there testifying against the violent takeover of Ash Street, Jefferson City,
Missouri.
And we became who we are in order to become what they wanted us to be.
I was with beauty and could not hold on, I saw the hollow of poverty and could
not open my eyes, I understood the anger of the drug needle, I knew the
scent of scarred tissue, I wandered through cold and heat, I felt the explosion
before the completion of the violent, I breathed the shift in value.
I was there and I trespassed.