It starts as a small little thing, indignation at a trespass, anger, having been wronged. It grows into a flag, parading first down small streets, sweeping up the meanderers, then avenues and winning crowds, cheers along the way. It writes an anthem, builds a campaign. Marching through the mind it settles thoroughly in memory and vein changing our posture, the way we hold our chin. By the time it reaches bone, it has eaten through sinew and spine, cost us all that was benign. Then, rises up the starless night, no song no light. Suddenly afraid, we want it out: cut, poison, burn the blighted stem. But rampant right breeds cell on cell out of control, And having eaten heart it eats the soul.
By Susan Dane
|
| |