Holiday
Nels Hanson
"In the dream he was aboard a single indescribable ship sailing rapidly toward a dark and indefinite shore." – “Lincoln’s Dreams: An Analysis of the Sixteenth President’s ‘Night Terrors’ and Other Chimeras,” by Lucas R. Somers
No worries, only the tilting floor waking us,
bed tipping right and left. Fresh from sleep,
dreaming the lifeboat lifted as the ship went
down, I thought of Abrams tanks he ordered,
Independence Parade. They rumbled, treads
cracking pavement in Washington, but tons
of armor rippling the continent like a child’s
flicked rope, a seventh rogue wave, pitching
the duplex on California shore? Earthquake!
the TV says, the state’s strongest in 20 years,
the epicenter Ridgecrest east of Bakersfield,
north of L.A., on Sierras’ western slope near
Death Valley. Two hundred miles away 100
aftershocks reported now, no damage here,
no house in flames, groceries spilled from
shelves, hydrants spouting fountains, rivers
threatening ripped avenues, failed gas lines
spewing. Just jangled nerves this holiday as
he mimes his speech, ready fireworks with
fuses, fighter jets and Air Force 1 all fueled.
Pilots stare into barracks’ mirrors, shave or
brush long tresses prettier than transplanted
sprayed orange strands so carefully arranged,
before they cinch tight helmets on, sorry to
skip family barbecue. Do you feel the deep
fault’s shifting plates, racing seismic pulses
streaking under cities and farms to columns
above the waiting podium, a teleprompter’s
plastic blank screen few steps from Lincoln’s
trembling chair? Examine closely: fractures
web the face, the eyes shed dust, what’s left
when tears run out before the sobbing ends.
Nels Hanson
"In the dream he was aboard a single indescribable ship sailing rapidly toward a dark and indefinite shore." – “Lincoln’s Dreams: An Analysis of the Sixteenth President’s ‘Night Terrors’ and Other Chimeras,” by Lucas R. Somers
No worries, only the tilting floor waking us,
bed tipping right and left. Fresh from sleep,
dreaming the lifeboat lifted as the ship went
down, I thought of Abrams tanks he ordered,
Independence Parade. They rumbled, treads
cracking pavement in Washington, but tons
of armor rippling the continent like a child’s
flicked rope, a seventh rogue wave, pitching
the duplex on California shore? Earthquake!
the TV says, the state’s strongest in 20 years,
the epicenter Ridgecrest east of Bakersfield,
north of L.A., on Sierras’ western slope near
Death Valley. Two hundred miles away 100
aftershocks reported now, no damage here,
no house in flames, groceries spilled from
shelves, hydrants spouting fountains, rivers
threatening ripped avenues, failed gas lines
spewing. Just jangled nerves this holiday as
he mimes his speech, ready fireworks with
fuses, fighter jets and Air Force 1 all fueled.
Pilots stare into barracks’ mirrors, shave or
brush long tresses prettier than transplanted
sprayed orange strands so carefully arranged,
before they cinch tight helmets on, sorry to
skip family barbecue. Do you feel the deep
fault’s shifting plates, racing seismic pulses
streaking under cities and farms to columns
above the waiting podium, a teleprompter’s
plastic blank screen few steps from Lincoln’s
trembling chair? Examine closely: fractures
web the face, the eyes shed dust, what’s left
when tears run out before the sobbing ends.
