Lament For The Current Time
by Judith Valente

My country is like a cupboard where every plate is cracked,
its porcelain cups lie broken in half, handleless.

I want the country I knew back.

I want a country where the crossing guard in day glow yellow jacket
and the checkout girl at the Kroger whose name tag says Mitzi
won’t betray me if I cross a state line.

I want a country where ball caps bear only the names of sports teams,

where men and women say Good morning to the driver, getting on a bus,
and the driver answers back,

where Christmas, Kwanza, Hanukkah, Diwali
and the Lunar New Year are celebrated with equal delight.

Where the sounds of language in the streets–
Urdu, Spanish, Serbian, Farsi, Creole, Chinese or Tagalog–
are like the musical lines of a fugue.

I want a country where every ambulance and fire truck siren
evokes a silent prayer, whether for a neighbor or a stranger.

But my country is like an unsent letter, a dusty table, a spreading tumor,
a flickering light, a corralled horse, a life cut short, a polar night.

I want the country I knew back.



 

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