EDMUND PETTIS BRIDGE 2025

by Jim Burns

For John Lewis, 1940-2020

Bloody Sunday, Bloody Sunday,
we looked away this year,
and now its gone, but…

The spirits waft out of the fog
on nights moist and sultry
as sweet summer sex
and meet at the bridge 
they can’t forget.
See them now,
John Lewis, Hosea Williams,
alive again and young,
Moseses leading their people
across the Red Sea
to the Promised Land,
leading 1200 moving feet
across the Alabama River,
a moccasin 
cold and poisonous
glistening in the moonlight 
below those 1200 feet marching
to the other side,
the other side where
their tormentors,
cold and poisonous too,
wait in the mist,
spectral figures,
mean-faced troopers with billies
and rearing horses with bulging eyes,
waiting to make this Judgment Day.
Why do these phantoms gather 
to cry again
from the sting of gas
as if their tears hadn’t fallen
for centuries before,
to bleed again
as if they had never bled
from the crack of batons
across heads bowed in prayer?
They climb up from their graves
until someday they reach
that other side.

Jim Burns was born and raised in rural Indiana and spent most of his working life as a librarian. Now retired, he turned to a long held interest in writing, and has had poems published by Eucalyptus Review, Skipjack Review, Rainy Weather Days, and others. He lives with wife and dog in Jacksonville, Florida.

IT CAN’T HAPPEN HERE

by Jim Burns

with echoes of Buffalo Springfield

AI-generated graphic by Shutterstock for The New Verse News.

it can’t happen here 

they say

and go on 

with their day, 

but are they sure,

do they remember a time 

way back in their prime 

when they raised voices and sang

that something’s happening here,

it’s not exactly clear,

but we’d better beware

and look what’s goin’ down

what’s that sound, 

it ain’t exactly clear, 

but something for sure 

is happening here, 

the Constitution, institutions, 

are biting the dust, 

like used up metal 

they’ll dissolve into rust 

while we whistle 

in the dark, 

take a walk 

in the park, 

say it’ll be alright

and forget 

that what follows

the dark 

is the night

Jim Burns was born and raised in rural Indiana, received degrees from Indiana State University and Indiana University, and spent most of his working life as a librarian. After retirement he turned to an earlier love of writing and has been fortunate to have seen over 20 of his poems and prose published either online or in print. He lives with his wife and dog in Jacksonville, Florida.

IMMIGRANT’S SONG

by Jim Burns

Riots broke out in Philadelphia after Nativists burned down a Catholic church in May 1844. This lithograph shows the Know-nothings (in the top hats) clashing with the state militia.

Out of the vapors
of the past
I come
to sing you a song
of the poor and huddled masses
who have gathered at your gates.

I am the inscrutable Chinese,
one of 20,000 from my land
who for a dollar a day built your
grand railway of the golden spike.

I am the drunken Irishman,
the mobbed-up Italian,
the ignorant Pole
who sweated and died
to forge the iron and erect
your palaces of steel.

I am the Shylock Jew 
whose sweatshop toil
made the clothes on your back,
but whose financial acumen you blame
for relieving you of your earnings.

I am the the suspected spy,
the German who had to change my name
to protect me from your Klan
when first our countries fought.

I am the devious Japanese whose family
were reviled as turncoats
and dwelt in your internment camps
while in Europe I fought and died for you.

I am the wild-eyed son of Middle Eastern deserts
denied entry into your land 
and murdered in your cities
because of the evil of a few
who, like me, pray to Allah.

I am of those deemed not human at your southern border,
who braved deserts and human predators
to pick your crops, roof your homes,
tend your lawns,
do the jobs your sons won’t do.

Think of me as you will,
but Lady Liberty, 
raise your torch to me.
I am America,
I am you.

Jim Burns was born and raised in rural Indiana and received degrees from both Indiana State University and Indiana University. He then spent most of his working years as a librarian. A few years into his retirement he turned to a decades old interest in writing, especially poetry, and in the last two years has been fortunate enough to have published 18 poems and two short pieces of nonfiction online, in print or both. He lives with wife and dog in Jacksonville, Florida.