Coming Into Our Own

We sought to understand
the grammar of the shifting landscape,
the crepe paper hills,
the shrill hymns of trees.

Sunset had dimmed
our overall view.
The orchestra remained
true to the score.

More and more, we felt ourselves
slipping through a rip in the foreground,
the sound of boredom at our backs,
and divine providence, panic attacks.

The racket was fierce
and persistent,
but so were we,
so were we.

Bravely, we fought to keep
the freedom we had wrenched
from the grasp of the gasping collosus
we called our fatherland,

whose hands of barbed wire
and shrapnel would have smothered us
had we not been so clever.
Ties were severed

as ties must be severed
from the necks they enshrined.
Blindness was banished
to a dreary cafe.

A ways off, in distant memory,
a light bulb flickered.

-r. miller

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