I am bending,
picking up cedar and pine lumber spilled by a speeding truck.
I am a bleak schoolyard blighted by chain link fences and cracked asphalt,
and repulsed by the sight of too much hysterical bravery.
I am a child digging in the dirt,
smelling magnolias, tasting chard, rosemary and ground cherries.
I am a disagreement behind closed doors,
and the vitality of the struggle.
I am a ridiculous military adventure,
and dissolved Indian sovereignty.
I am a lonesome shuffle between the roadhouse bar stool and the church pew,
and a pair of shined shoes and a bag of sold peanuts.
I am a shallow trench, and a tool that resembles a spear.
I am cow hide used for cosmetics,
and a pearly light shone through a lifting layer of fog.
I am the interstate shut down because of snow, and a set of flirtatious eyes.
I am logjams of lust, and the ruins of the amphitheatre.
I am a Mexican farm worker met with hostility,
and the social and economic chaos that immigrants create.
I am an apostle of peace,
and the spirit of the vendetta.
I am a hockey night in Canada,
and a sushi lover paying a premium for fatty meat.
I am a rollerblader in Central Park,
and relentless as a researcher.
I am a kid from New Jersey fighting in Afghanistan,
and firewood for cooking.
I’m the cold ground of Montana dirt,
and freshly dug entrenchments at Harlem Heights.
I’m a girl shouting encouragement,
whose ropily muscled arms and legs remind one of a lean chicken.
I’m a child who finds it hard to approach this world with hope, enthusiasm, and trust.
I’m a fight between a monkey and a lion,
and a taxi driver asleep in a shiny black cab.
I am laughter,
and the blood from the feet of homeless men who wear broken shoes.
I am the Sweet Science of Boxing,
and a gesture of reassurance and a bold wager on the future.
I am an accident assured to happen.
I am boredom,
and exceptional psychological strength.
I am wines to woolens,
and the restoration of flagging spirits.
I’m a recycling center where cans and bottles turn into cash.
I’m a migrant worker picking frozen peas,
and a clodhopper hiding behind a white sheet.
I’m an anarchistic novelty,
and a wealthy realtor.
I’m the Ego and Its Own,
and a compassionate participant in the world.
I’m a shootout at Ruby Ridge,
and a freefall of flames.
I am closed for the winter,
and crawling in my playpen.
I am cold,
and quick chatter and beautiful smiles.
I am a man missing a limb,
and lettuce and tomatoes.
I am a palace,
and fresh milk and goat cheese.
I’m the great emptiness among Cubans,
and a job that requires the auditing of truth and lies.
I’m a confounding calm that will shatter fear and complacency,
and a town full of self-defined renegades and recluses.
I’m a public execution,
and a lanky husband waiting by the checkout.
I’m free to oppose and criticize,
and a mountaintop removed to expose a coal vein in Appalachia.
I’m a house whitewashed to minimize the brutal aesthetic,
and a bus with cushy seats and drink service.
I’m a truck carrying cedar and pine lumber,
overturned somewhere along Idaho’s Highway 12.
Relephant Reads:
How to Rock a Summer Road Trip Solo.
~
Author: Brian D’Ambrosio
Editor: Travis May
Images: Author’s Own
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