Post-. Wayne Miller
They hang in that space
where a world was built
in fits and erasures—she wants
to lift that world
into her own.
Meanwhile, this world
floods her thoughts,
her voice; it fills
the windows, the streets
she moves through;
it reaches into her
as the air reaches into her lungs.
Then, before we know it,
here she is with us
inside the book.
THE PEOPLE’S HISTORY
The People moved up the street in a long column—
like a machine boring a tunnel. They sang
the People’s songs, they chanted the People’s slogans:
We are the People, not the engines of the city;
we, the People, will not be denied.
Then the People
descended upon the People, swinging hardwood batons
heavy with the weight of the People’s intent.
And the People surged, then, into the rows before them,
pushing the People against the blurred arcs
of truncheons, the People throwing rocks
into the plastic shields and visors,
behind which
the People blinked when the rocks hit, then pushed back
so the mass of People before them compressed.
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