inspired by the novel Imagining Argentina by Lawrence Thornton

Ancient men have tuned me, set my strings
To a sympathetic vibration that fuses past and present.
I have no words, the people do.
They have brought them to me, with their tears.
I am simply a locus where the stories may occur,
And I know that I will lose the gift
If I spend it only on myself.

I will lose it in my selfishness, so that
The father rediscovered will remain hidden, and
I will lose Enrico's smile, his cries and laughter.
The weakness of my vision will allow
The narrow souls within the womb of zealotry
To forgive the attrocities as exaggeration, imagination, lies.
The regime will continue to ignore and eliminate reality.

Like the skeletal 1940's man, who by wishing wins reprieve,
I will redream the present nightmare, release the people, the faces
Within the feathers of the birds. I must help set free the faces
In the photos, or the generals' travesty will swallow the Argentina of my heart,
And then never will I find the soul that dwells within the pampas
With the body of a fence post, a startled owl as frightened face.
Then only huge, round avian eyes will remain where my Cecilia once had been.

I will lose the gift if I spend it only on myself.

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ChaoSpirals