PALIMPSEST

by Greg LeGault

Marcus Jansen, “Rural America,” 2018. Oil enamels, oil stick, paper, cloth and spray paint on canvas. 50 x 74 inches. From the collection of Corrado and Christina.

Back in the day

fifty years ago

flames lit the night

as cities glowed.

Brother turned on brother

black on white

young on old

hawks on doves

chanting left on

canting right—

how terribly brief that

“Summer of Love.”

We raced into space

walked on the moon,

grieved when dreamers

were taken too soon

followed different drummers

with funkier beats

preached peace while running

wild in the streets

searching for answers

blowin’ in the wind—

“The old world will crumble

and a new one begin!” 

And through it all each America gleaned

that it was pursuing the American Dream.

 

Comes the day

five decades on

the flames still burn

the Dream seems gone.

Brother turns on brother

every color fearing white.

Radical left

ultra-right

patriot versus patriot—

who is us and

who is not? We

race to the brink

dance on the edge

armed to the teeth,

at odds is an image

and what lies beneath;

tectonic plates always

pushing and shifting

united states

untethered and drifting.

We hold up a finger

in hopes we’ll begin

to find the hint of an answer

blowin’ in the wind.

Something to tell us that what we are seeing

isn’t the end of American dreaming.

Greg LeGault is an Associate Professor of Theatre at Bethany College in Lindsborg, KS.

AFTER READING 67 SHOTS: THE SHOOTINGS AT KENT STATE

by Alan Catlin

Recalling the all night vigils
Memorial sit ins
Student strike
Church services
Peace March through an Upstate
New York city and all the hostility
for all the long hairs

Recalling the Peace Fair
no one came to
The petitions for a Moratorium
for the Vietnam War no one signed
The peace committee work
that accomplished nothing

Recalling those glorious Spring days
All that time to kill with no classes
no Finals just graduation and
a draft notice that was sure to follow

Recalling playing softball
drinking beer and hanging out
with the cleanup hitter who
couldn’t make weekend end games

“National Guard duty.” he said when asked
why he could play.  “I hope I don’t get
called up. I hope there are no more
student riots like at Kent State.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me, Doug. “
I teased, “we’re friends.”

He looked at me, then toward
the pitcher toeing the mound
and I knew he would, if someone
in command told him to.
“You’re up.” He said.


Alan Catlin has published numerous chapbooks and full-length books of poetry and prose, the latest of which, from March Street Press, is Alien Nation.