poem: What if the Cynics are Wrong?

poem: What if the Cynics are Wrong?

A Chapter by Marie Anzalone

"What if the cynics are wrong?"

      was whispered

first... under the breath,

     by a weary great-grandma in Detroit,

  watching a new mom of just 14 summers

           hold the hand of a newborn

in preemie clothes, on tubes

                 and ventilators,

                     and before the papers were notarized.

 

then a little louder, by a young man

        working his way through school in Sri Lanka

                upon receiving the notice about his father

  and the damage from rebels

          while his test scores reflected bias

                          of the owners towards the owned

                knowing his feet

                     could not retrace bloody steps

                                in forsaken ground.

 

It was asked aloud, in a quiet tone,

        by a working mother in a board room

      in Great Britain

              shortly before notice was given

                       and the layoffs, supposedly impartial,

            began with the nonconformist.

 

It was written by a blogger in Argentina

           when a story of another land's disaster

      was ridiculed by the new bourgeois

                     of American sensibility

                            and the viewpoint was crucifed

           upon an altar of indifference

                        a sacrifice to the gods of impartiality

                 and economic doctrines.

 

It was inquired wondrously,

                             in different words

         by a Native child in Alberta;

             of her elders,

                    upon overhearing discussions

         by men who negotiate brick and wood

                                 and the price of a bottle of whisky

                   balanced on the edge of a blackjack chip.

  and her voice was lost among the hoots and hurrahs,

                              but was carried on the wings of a trumpeter swan.

 

And the swan met a tern met a stork,

              and the words traveled to India

                     where a farmer in desperation made preparations

         for his family to receive a death payout,

                        then, inexplicably,

                 turned back towards the house when the bird's cry

                         struck a chord which only believers in dignity

   have ever, in the history of the world, been able

                    to discern among the background din.

 

In Australia, it was then picked up,

    and shouted from the desert

                     In Israel, from the strip, by one who chose

          not to pull a trigger,

In Germany, a physicist asked it over drink;

                      In Iran, an engineer from irrigation fields,

                 Mexico, from an old man in communion

                        New York, from a refugee,

                                    and finally, Sudan, from a doctor,

                 tending the dying newborn

                           of a girl of just 14 summers.

 

and Detroit and Sudan shared a bittersweet moment

           for just a moment,

                 but maybe

                         that moment was, for a second

 

nearly enough

         to make the sublime, human.

                           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 




© 2012 Marie Anzalone



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Featured Review

Brilliant in every way. As important as any butterfly flapping its wings Over "there," and causing a ruckus somewhere else... Reminded me of a miniature version of Ernesto Cardenal's Mosquito Kingdom, with its 6 degrees of separation theme that eventually leads the reader grasping, or maybe just kissing, softly on the truth.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This comment has been deleted by the poster.
Tree

5 Years Ago

Agreed. The truth Is elusive. But here, today
I caught a glimpse.
Marie Anzalone

5 Years Ago

and that makes my soul glad :-)



Reviews

Brilliant in every way. As important as any butterfly flapping its wings Over "there," and causing a ruckus somewhere else... Reminded me of a miniature version of Ernesto Cardenal's Mosquito Kingdom, with its 6 degrees of separation theme that eventually leads the reader grasping, or maybe just kissing, softly on the truth.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This comment has been deleted by the poster.
Tree

5 Years Ago

Agreed. The truth Is elusive. But here, today
I caught a glimpse.
Marie Anzalone

5 Years Ago

and that makes my soul glad :-)
This was amazing. I am speechless.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is nothing short of miraculous... You transport us over time and make us wonder... just enough to shake the cobwebs from our minds. So insightful and profoundly voiced... I can feel the world at one..

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

O,hell they are....they are blind to that written on the wall and it yells change..

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

what if echoes why not...is it all setinstone ..is it predestined...and only GOD CAN KNOW?

Posted 6 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

was just arguing with an old friend who has old ideas, I'm glad to read words as tall as these

Posted 6 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.


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Added on January 23, 2011
Last Updated on August 25, 2012

A Pilgrimage in Epistles: Poems as Letters and Observations


Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xela, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual poet, essayist, novelist, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, .. more..

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