Perhaps you will consider this a eulogy

Just one of the headline reactions to Jan. 6, 2021
Photo: little plant, via Unsplash
I see myself in the television screen
(where the man stands in a sweatshirt that says
“6 million was not enough”)
            when I was six years old with my mother and sister
staring up at it in the snow
with a fever and a headache
I feel that heat (those aching bones),
can almost touch the remnant snow
            (where the jackboots and the militiamen and
the flags are now used as battering rams
to enter the proud rotunda)
            of the old building on the hill
I can smell the polished leather chairs
of the chambers
            (where the gunfight erupts, feet from
the ghost of Lincoln)
I can feel that dizzying fire
            (as the windows are broken
and the china porcelain of the land—
smashed) on the marble blocks
Just beyond the steps of those marble balustrades
            (where I stood and watched the building fade
            into the snowy hill)
 a camera is punched out
            a microphone crushed—and that battle flag
(a blood stain) is on the steps
I am reminded of that photograph (archaic now)
            of Boston (in black and white)
a flag (dark and ominous) stabbed into a crowd
            as if the patriots are the insurrectionists
(the beer belly putsch unfolding in the halls
before our eyes)
And—perhaps you will consider this
a eulogy—I see myself (six years old)
trying to catch sight of the tip of the dome
            (from my sick bed in the hotel room)
and I see the light tripped fantastic,
            (O the glow of flames!)
            on the sidewalks (Trashed and overthrown!)
the trembling sidewalks
of Washington


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