Let me whisper this secret in your ear:
silently us pretend to be done with you
as us pretended silently never to have started
to drop both the explosions themselves
and the allure of their toy-like incubators.
Us sit at home now, pretending us never snuck out,
leaving our plastic toys in droves to tick
the time in your country, our playground
to trip the trails of hide and seek
of temple walks, of daily work.
Not to kill
dead people are forgotten.
but to hatch limping reminders
a reminder that we are in control
of the impermanence
in your stride.
In the plot, people came to the land; the land loved them; they worked and
struggled and had lots of children. There was a Frenchman who talked funny
and a greenhorn from England who was a fancy-pants but when it came to the
crunch he was all courage. Those novels would make you retch.
-- Canadian novelist Robertson Davies, on the generic Canadian novel.
This page was last modified on 2011 December 20. "Flight Paths Over Laos" by John Sullivan is Copyright ©2003 - 2011, and licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.