America: A poem by Andrew Harrelson

I am homesick for an America

That I never saw

May never see again

Sitting here freezing my ass off

In position, in my apartment

I recall what is gone 

Witness what never was

This beloved story that grew 

in sun-dappled fields

Captured by a delayed shutter

Overexposed and undefined

I am homesick for an America

That raised me up and now

Strikes me down

Maybe there is nothing new

under this westering sun

Our history gnaws at us 

slouching cruel

red of tooth and hand

The ceremony of innocence is shot dead

And now it is before you—

A table laid by a false god

Gold and glittering beneath the Mount

Bruised clouds gather overhead 

I am homesick for an America 

Where the dogwoods bloom

Unburdened in quiet hollows

And I

Dream of a land 

on the wing of birdsong