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Sunday, February 24, 2008White Petals Of My Irises
I stood outside as the sun went down, as it sunk behind the trees and the houses across the street. And the western sky began to fade from blue to white to dark. As dusk descended, my shadow from the orange streetlight fell across the lawn, and whining crickets and things filled my ears, and the white petals of my blooming Irises quivered in the gentle evening breeze.
I can say these things, these things about breezes and shadows and dancing Iris petals. I can bring myself to sit down and write those words. But the other words don't come.
Words about high finance gone wrong. Words about politicians doing what politicians do. Words about big brother realized with conservative courts quite happy to oblige. Words about glaciers accelerating to the sea. Words about the ownership society and the landlords it enriches. Words about cities neglected. Words about genocides ignored. Words about torture enabled.
Words that lie in a heap never organized, because I can't muster the spirit to say them, because what good would it do. Those words and my inability to say them -- evidence that the shock doctrine works.
So I stand outside as the sun goes down. I fold my legs and sit on the ground next to the sleeping Redbud tree in the deepening gloom of night. And I watch the white petals of those Irises flutter.
That, I can bring myself to do.
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Last updated: 3/3/08; 12:27:42 PM
2008 david hasan
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