For We Were Here Bent to the Soil You Did Not Want to Tend

                 And the beaches, when they finally empty
                         of human congregation 
Bridges whose curves will show
            from one abutment to another,
with only air threading through   
     cantilevered spans
                 And on the railroad tracks stretched
            like so much forgotten history from coast
to coast, the wraiths of those of us
     who drove their spades into the earth       
                 What spaces are there now where our bodies  
                         can go to find sustainment—
     with only clear wind, not bearing    
            virus taunts or spittle streaks   

2 Replies to “For We Were Here Bent to the Soil You Did Not Want to Tend”

  1. This poem perfectly bends my imagination of our now-expanding country toward richer spaces (and times).

    “What spaces are there now” reminds me of Walter Benjamin: “Redemption preserves itself in a small crack in the continuum of catastrophe.”

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