Op/Ed
Poetry: January 20th
“Don’t be afraid to listen to what may change you.”
— William Meredith, The Cheer
Oh my director of the national
portrait gallery
of owls.
Oh what I wouldn’t give for you
to leave your doors
open. For me not to have to
remember any glass
painting the streets.
A man with horns setting
his easel.
Putting up his feet.
My fellow citizens writing
their names in capital
letters. In chalk.
On the sidewalk. The Mall
of Insects.
A few more beautiful than I can
ever imagine. In winter.
Their painted hard shells,
framed now. Pinned
to an inaugural lapel.
What I wouldn’t give
to see my love’s reflection
in the Reflecting Pool.
The Wall not serving
as a mirror.
No tissue paper. No markers.
To engrave. Make a lasting
impression.
I hope I can stick to my guns.
In the face of all that’s to
come.
At the Border of Fires
and Choppers.
Still love oohing and ahhing.
Feeling frightened
at the thought of no more
fireworks. July explosions.
Still love looking forward to sitting
for my portrait.
Sitting still. For the fireflies.
To make of me
what they will. Blinking on
and off. Outlining a few
words I don’t want to make
too much of. Imagining
my January country.
One nation under, beneath itself.
Bequeathing. Pledging allegiance
to Invisibility’s god.
These tracks in the snow.
Standing for who was there.
Before I came upon them.
Before they could disappear.
Taking their wings with them.
Back into our national forest.
Gary Margolis
Cornwall
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