This Is Our American America Here Is Our Son
We bring the world to bed with us,
its weather, its moving maps,
and its wars. When the staff told
the grieving chimp, tomorrow
they’d bring her a baby, she understood
her baby, the one three years ago
whisked inexplicably away,
not any baby, which is what
they brought. Of course
she wouldn’t touch it. Of course
this lasted all day and into
the night and by morning
had been replaced by embrace.
Kinship is a gun set to stun,
circumstance a falcon striking
midair. Tonight I know the head
shot, I know the kneeling man.
If you know a face, how you know
a face is the way every part of it
works together when, still a person,
across a table a person laughs
on just another sunny day.
From Late Empire (Copper Canyon Press, 2017). Copyright © 2017 by Lisa Olstein. Used with the permission of the author.
Lisa Olstein is the author of Little Stranger (Copper Canyon Press, 2013). She teaches at the University of Texas at Austin and lives in Austin.
Date Published: 2018-03-28
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/our-american-america-here-our-son