“Poetry frees us from tyranny”
Tracy K. Smith — American Poet Laureate 2017 & 2018
The angels are playing with rainsticks.
Minuscule hail (or is that sleet?) makes music
on the sidewalk already slick with December’s tears.
It is peaceful here and starless. The darkness
is a balm for the buzz of the process playing out.
What channel doesn’t cover it? What
station? What newspaper?
Rhetorical bullets flash then fizzle.
Is this how fascism starts? What do we want?
Would giving them pens make them poets?
We pray that wisdom withstands the rant.
December is dark, and cold, and wet. Only poetry
can survive such weather … Poetry
and the music of angels with rainsticks.