I'm still wising I was at Dodge -- so I'm going to print another poem. One of my favorite poems. Tomorrow I will look at the speeches -- I was too heartsick to watch...
The Dollar Signs of Autumn
by Thomas Sayers Ellis
from The Maverick Room (Graywolf Press/ January 2005).
Dip a finger in a dark
and write on the window
of our world. OIL.
G-R-E-E-D did this.
Greed and fall, nature's seasonal debris
of brilliant symbolism.
I, too, have prayed for more places to hide
in the shade
Metaphorically warning students
Workshops are war,
I now wish life would stop imitating life,
and that I was talented enough to resist the images
of the S inside the eleven as a hero behind bars.
O but I am not.
The media's cash register of bodies,
and the twin terrors at the center of the word dollar
have made me and my craft liar-cowards.
S for September, s for suffering, s for save us.
Damn you autumn,
flags are not flowers.