A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
It crackled like a stun gun
the news (I swear it did) and when
we picked ourselves up off the floor
(tiled, concrete, packed-earth, marble)
of our assumptions it was
done in a slow motion funk
of shock and disjunction.
How could this happen?
We took the hit. Our ears rung.
It stung that night.
And each morning since
it’s a rising welt, the sun.
Copyright 2016 Leslie McGrath