The Better Angels of Our Nature
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends
towards justice. Martin Luther King
I
She said she was disturbed
noises at Camp Peary
Black Ops exercises
in the tideland woods
explosions, machine gun
fire
blackhawks beating moonlight
beating clouds
She tells me this over
drinks
in a bar that’s gay one
night a week
after we stopped at a
candlelight protest
Maybe some of the same
kids are here now
some are her students
most are not much older than
we were
when we met, it seems like
a long time now
We haven’t seen each other
in years
catching up on careers, pets
and miscellaneous debris
drunkenly talking out all
the difficulties of family
The next day hung over, listless
sitting on the couch
passing newspaper pages
she says I can play a
record if I want
we both agree on silence
the world is dissonant
enough
Lately real life resembles
all my five am anxiety
dreams
the kind where I wake up
stare at the dark, wait
for it to lift
the only thing pleasant
in those moments is
silence
It’s so hard to find
silence
even in the comfort of
friends
even while waiting
on the better angels of
our nature
II
Big Star’s Third plays crisp
clear on this ice sunshine
morning
Obsessed with Take Care
I play it over and over
long past Richmond
when I switch to radio
I love radio
especially when I’m headed
into some large American
city
the mess of cultures
spilling across am and fm
dials
classic rock and mexicali
polka
bollywood and gospel
rai and soul
hip hop and cumbia
classical and jazz
it bolsters me
reminds me
what America is about
III
In a burger joint
my friends and I
interrupted
Mark sweeps up weekends along
6th
further up the street weekdays
He says straight away
Donnie don’t play that
we laugh, it sparks
conversation
He doesn’t understand
he can’t accept
that it will be alright
but being black
you get used to be ignored
you get used to being
harassed
you get used to being
stepped on
its, excuse my language,
he says
the fuckers who voted for
him
that won’t understand
how to live
when shit
starts to roll downhill on
them
IV
The Library of Congress
the sum of our national
knowledge
ceiling painted with
quotes
statements
on freedom
on knowledge
on equality
and against tyranny
everything we’ve come to
believe
or be misled about
democracy
is here on display
Everything that is knit
into our national fabric
is waiting
on the better
angels of our nature
to appear
to drink
to digest
to practice
not divest
V
I stroll down the bluff
around the Capitol
there are persons of color
humans
today, mostly Muslim
holding signs in protest
milling after the event
I try and read signs as
they pass
sometimes so intent on
words
it seems I’m staring
when I notice, I smile wide
as I can
to acknowledge
you are not alone
often their eyes relived
smile back at me
We are all immigrants
my family came from
Scotland via Toronto
when potato famines raged
My family came from
Germany
when Wilson claimed
all Germans were the enemy
when it was good for
business
as it always is, to go to
war
My family came from
Switzerland
looking for opportunity
this is what our country
has been built on
since some rich white men
decided that freedom
was good for business
this cannot
and will not be changed
not in the name of safety
ultimately, safety is an
illusion
if you ban
Iranians, Iraqis, Somalis
Syrians, Libyans,
Sundanese and Yemeni
then I will be happy
to add those nationalities
to my family tree
VI
A Latina woman
in a wheelchair
pushed up the bluff
by her daughter
sign across her lap
Love Trumps Hate
The daughter struggles
extended behind the chair
the older woman
says something I can’t
hear
they both laugh
a joke that meant
everything
VII
Sunset at the Lincoln
Memorial
wheelie kids flying across
the mall
Muslims and sympathizers
gather
for a candlelight vigil
I need no help with The
Gettysburg Address
its burned in my heart
its his second inaugural
address
that, this evening, hits
hardest
I knew I wouldn’t hold
back,
how can you hold back
tears
when a national tragedy is
happening
The blood still not been
wrung from the lash
our sins indelible
it seems to me the Civil
War
like the Cold War,
was a war of attrition
It seems to me
we lost both wars
but it took one hundred
and fifty years
or thirty to realize it
I take heart as I see
people
take to the streets en
masse
I take heart
when I see civil
disobedience
the protests peaceful and
growing
Jeremiads to be rewritten
by the better angels of
our nature
proof that government
of the people
by the people
for the people
shall not perish
VIII
The Vietnam Memorial
a wave in the dark
The wheelie kids are home
the Muslims on fire
the wind a bone saw
I have two uncles who served
neither killed in combat
one a casualty of alcohol
the toll quantified
years after he served two
tours
the other still wears
shrapnel scars across his
face
I am not a man who
believes in violence
I wonder now about that
more
as I have conversations
I see more people who feel
the same way
as I watch a government
unconcerned
with the people it was to
serve
It seems to me LBJ
believed in guns and
butter
but guns beat butter
now its only guns
Fifty years after the wave
crested
fifty years from where
King’s dream died
fifty years of an age of
growing irrationalism
fifty years of violence,
our national
jeremiad is still one of
blood
we’ve been wading deeply
its stained every inch of
this land
I stare through the dark
at lists of names
names of men
now gone
I am overwhelmed by the
dead
IX
The fence is still up from
inauguration day
it surrounds the White
House
as do armed guards in digital
camo
I was taught to believe
in god and country
in invisible hands and
democracy
I have found no solace in
god
choosing instead to
believe in humanity
maybe, like Whitman, this
is why
I can’t give up my faith
in democracy
X
There is a feast waiting
in a basement apartment on
D Street
Beer we bought from a
Korean Bodega
Chicken and Mole Sauce
Refried beans and rice
my host’s fiancés cooking
is perfect
We talk about the places
our families came from
the stories we haven’t
lost
to time or being
Americanized
we list of all the
terrible things
we’ve seen and heard
in the name of freedom
Freedom in our name
freedom cannot wait much
longer
for the better angels of
our nature
Coda
Arlington National Cemetery
I’ve walked fifteen miles in two days
maybe more, my legs are pegs
I sprained my ankle
coming down a mountain yesterday afternoon
I don’t have time for the tour
I decide to walk
to limp to Kennedy’s grave
I stare up a Robert E Lee’s big house
I hear they’re refurbishing the slave cabins
finally making it undeniable,
the unbelievable cruelty of that era
which isn’t that much different from this era
I watch the eternal flame a minute
listen to security guard hush
each person who speaks
I start back down the hill
my legs are not working
the limp gets worse with each step
still I start for Medgar Evers grave
I get halfway, feel like heading for the gate
stop, state at the seventy degree
blue sky in January
rebuke myself
some gave all for freedom
Evers gave his life for it
a freedom that all men should enjoy
a freedom that should be
self-evident
I keep walking, finding the grave easily
kneel and rest my head on it
no prayers
only silence
--- Jason Baldinger
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