Poet of the Moment

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Poet of the Moment

The Poet of the Moment for this issue is:

Shannon Leigh, Austin, Texas

In the heat of the moment, so to speak, i went to read at Thom the World Poet's Poetry for Peace reading at Cafe Mundi in Austin September 19th. A lot of thoughtful words were spun that night, lots of anguish spilled on the concrete floors. I suppose you could say that some souls were rinsed that night; we may never be able to truly cleanse them again. In the headlong rush of verbiage, some of it carefully considered, some of it spontaneous, nearly all about Manhattan 911, were two young voices new to me. Both did what the young do best -- stripped away all pretense and literary cleverness and told us what we needed to hear most. I invited both to submit their pieces, one of whom has obliged -- Shannon Leigh. I don't know her age, her background, her school, but somehow i don't want to. One performance of this piece spoke volumes. I wish i could stream her to you live -- she is as amazing a performer as wordsmith. Please read her gently -- again and again.

-- tony gallucci

4 October 2001

One, Two, Three

by Shannon Leigh

And so we stand throwing sand ripping nails down our hands

tasting ashes in our mouths crying glass crying out

and never stopping to realize

that whether we are free to choose

tomorrow

the sun will rise

and I watch as the reflection of this second sun

echoes in your eyes

as empty as if you were watching it on movie screens

and CGI dreams

I dreamed of a city in flames a city in tears

two cities in fear

I dreamed--and it was here

and I dreamed that everyone's true self would be too clearly revealed

and this is not the way I thought

a simple division into three:

Three two one

One: the ones who want to win

the "Nuke the Arabs you cowards! Don't wait another hour

blow them to hell right now

forget sorrow or there won't be a tomorrow!"

and Two: "if we go to war at least we can

stage sit-ins and be hippies again"

and Three:

One two three me

the ones walking the streets shielding their feelings

ashamed to show the perverse pride we know

that feeling of

"we know things now"

the feel of radios reflecting to 'forty-two

huddled around them one by one

trying to get this info down with our minds playing tricks

listening to static crackle underfoot

with high-rise sticks

like old sci-fi flicks

but this time you're five-oh the double-zero

to wait in line on the hotline

to find out if the lives you saw live are your lives

and all the way this pride

it's almost better if more died, right?

because we're in this race to beat Pearl Harbor world records

making sure this really is the nation's biggest disaster

but by the day after

there is still the Shopping Network

and they swear we won't forget it

while they censor to protect us

I have a selfish wish I know

that our nation's leader would make us whole

say something unforgettable, get this in control

instead of stammering over the most important speech

the nation has ever seen

trying to preserve the American Dream

seems right now a forgotten theme

this day of infamy

is now officially a tragedy

but God forbid you leave it be

you have to wash the footage clean

but whatever we choose to do

and whether we stay here

or we disappear

everyone has forgotten to say

that tomorrow even without our eyes

the sun will rise.

And the nights keep on flying the pictures keep fading

and everyone's waiting

and thinking they're trying

we cry for the crying and die for the dying

the sun is still rising

and that

will never die.

And all of a sudden it's like

One Two Three

One: an accidental landing all standing looking up at nothing special

only just a touch of New York publicity

and just ignore what this should be

and the walls all scream

with their steel obscene

windows buckling bulging out

into living room screens

Two: the newest blood two in one

fears undone by metal mud

evacuations red cross stations

leaps of faiths' new crucifixions

Three: two...one...gone

imploding like a jewel against the sun

a tiny world reduced to none

a thousand threads

untied uncut

One two three me

Three two one gone

and calm like a bomb

my verses sing songs of what I wish I could hear

but there's never been a president with a less poetic ear

and it's as if my criticism in writing for years

is now what's real

what is true and prized

no matter how much we might lie

the sun will still rise

one two three me four more five lives

six seven eight too late nine ten

can't we please start again?

like a nursery rhyme wearing a satanic grin

I'm only trying to say what I can't understand

like why our number-one martyr on his two-by-four cross

hanging one part of a trinity on a Chevy four-by-four hood top

can't get the five-oh on this new 666

couldn't save us from a Richter Seven in the 'eighty-nine quakes

and now keeps ignoring our nine-one-one

and ten thousand graves

I know we can't let it go but somehow I don't believe

that Congress could agree

to a decree of legal war

and ignore the reasons

I don't think freedom can somehow excuse

that we don't know who's fighting who

Day Two is now Day Three

One Two Three ME

history implies a draft

after everything we've been through it almost seems apt

to send out a list of stolen sons to stricken mothers

just like in the past

what we thought wouldn't last

and I won't let my friends go to be "heroes" alone

if this country comes along and sells its soul

the only road to fame paved with guilt

and trained to betray

the mind's horror at the kill

I'm making my lists and checking them twice

trying to think of the army's price

I sit and hope it doesn't past

this can't be where we're going

or have we already begun?

this is a triumph over none

no one can obscure the sun

that's why we're called American

we overcame all we can and named ourselves after it

and named everything like Adam

though every atom is the same

the reason for blame is only shot at the named

while the unnamed can't explain why labels obliterate faith

you know the war's a fable when it's all about fame

another day another dollar

hitch your wagon to a bomb

isn't that what we're all taught

what's important can be bought

children of channels there can't be a God

children of innocence you are all gods

and our prayers go too long

melodies composed for ears unknown

because when there's nothing left

we can't go home

how the moon moans

everyone must fall sometime

even on primetime

every c(h)ord is cut in line

what's important is the crime

it seems to be the free can't see the way you live is the way you leave

build me a tower and light me a fire

we have to live before flame touches wire

and national hysteria wastes precious time

you should see at least that despite all the strife

despite the life lost

the sun will rise

one two three be free

three two one be-come

to show us we pray to beg for a fresh start

instead of only curtaining the light dark

and we need someone to say

whether we come out the same

there will always be

a day.