Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
John Lawson: Two Dreams
The first dream was long and complicated. It was about World War 2 in the Pacific, Where my Uncle Bill sailed and fought, nineteen years old. Preparing to invade the Japanese mainland, The top naval brass decided to replace All of the giant aircraft carriers Americans Had built with so much industry and cost But also with such pride and sacrifice With a whole new fleet of smaller, more Agile carriers, so that when, inevitably, The kamikazes struck them, Fewer brave child-sailors would swirl down Amid the chaos of blood and burning. And no one doubted this huge new force Could be forged and hammered and deployed To the far side of the Earth in months Because America would do it, And that’s the kind of magic we were capable of. The second dream was hardly a dream at all— An image: a short, white-haired woman, Still in good shape—look at the muscles in those legs That extend from her red summer shorts All the way down to her running shoes— Marches down her driveway to retrieve a plastic bag That someone dropped to blow around the neighborhood. She bends down, picks it up, and turns, But wobbles as she does so. You Can take yoga classes, sweat, and run, do Everything in your power to preserve The remnant of that body your parents idolized As they cooed and clucked like doves above you In your bassinet, but you are only Their immortality, not your own. She is one of that generation the heroes fought And died for, inheritors of prim suburban homes Purchased by the drowned, and now Even those inheritors, in spite of all their striving, Grow wobbly and gray, And the magic of America has come down To a tattered grocery bag that one windy day Hitched a ride from a passing breeze And quietly flew away.
Copyright 2022 John Lawson.
John Lawson is a Professor of English at Robert Morris University in Pittsburgh.
Vox Populi 