Flagstaff

Flagstaff

I run east

and in the running find sunlight,

thunder, lightning breath

backbone in the dry leavings of the

Rockies do I

love the land? Of course I

love the land,

every horizon the death of twenty miles

killing the rear-view to save the windshield

choose a road you’re bound to miss something:

Fireworks for Jesus

Devil’s Tower

Gettysburg

It’s fall the leaves

give up their blood

thrilling us with skeletons

proud to be an American

no

accident of birth but

thankful of my place

skipping across the country like a rock on water

One day I will grow weary and sink,

fix my back to a lawn in

Syracuse, Lansing

Flagstaff

gaze up at the nicked black

torso of birch and

wait there for spring

From Michael J. Vaughn: Collected Poems

Notes: In post-9/11 America, a contemplation on loving a country, as opposed to loving a land. A country is an artificial, human designation, so it should be held to the same rules as a friendship: I will be on your side, to a point, but I will do you the great favor of not always approving of your actions. And patriotism is almost always a con job.