Saturday Poem / The Mythos of America

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Homer, tipsy in the peanut
gallery, sings of islands
white and caked with painted
sand, outcrops against
a grassy sea -- subjugated meadow.

An odyssey from base to base:
Calabria, Minsk; the Great Migration,
segregation. The minstrel show
demolished by a wicked slider
from the glove of Satchel Paige. Some say

grace is marble's innuendo, the burden
of possibility only stone can bear.
But on a diamond, men also carry
scars -- stab wounds of
tobacco juice, cotton candy manna

raining down. A ball field
has an organ just like
Notre Dame,
its magnificat in
ragged time. Aristocrats
and fixers, heroes and
brawlers besting
distilling mother

like moonshine: grace must be the likes of
these -- no longer pinstriped chattel,
no longer in perdition,
their muscle
turned to light.


Nicholas Sauer is a writer living in Hampton. First Published October 11, 2013 8:00 PM


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