Oh Canada-America, the Beautiful

by Rachel Levine

Well, patriot, you will never know my country the Beautiful.

An aggressor from there, I am a target here.

Alone, easy to confront, held in smug contempt.

From a safe distance, you bleed me in your rage, kick me, beat me, stone me, the winner of the Jackson lottery.

I cannot justify to you her gross abuses.

I don’t understand them,

but I also don’t understand Kierkegard.

I do know a little Thucydides.

Read the Melian dialogue. Read it again, my teacher said. Read it until you realize the truth.

Interrogate me with the questions of the self righteous

“Why are they so dumb?”

“Who would vote for him?”

“Why don’t more people immigrate?”

What do you know of America, patriot?

You know America, the Coca Cola, the McDonalds, the Dunkin Donuts.

America, the Yellow Number 6.

America, the HBO.

America, the ghetto.

America, the AK-47.

America, the obese.

Not America, the truth of the Philosophical Experiment held self-evident.

Not America, beautiful, spacious skied, amber waving grains,

From sea to shining sea.

From the good pastor and a chance to sing to praise God almighty in the Tuesday choir?

From the red mailbox balanced on a square wood pole next to a mile long gravel driveway?

From the neighbour who bakes pies from the berries picked near the creek?

From the field where the girls found the arrowheads?

Never.

So what if her revolutionary odor lingers on my clothes.

I carry a gun in my heart and I can shoot you without flinching when I have had enough of your nattering.

©Rachel Levine 2007