“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