A poem of resistance for Valerie, whose birthday is today, during National Poetry Month.
What Kind of
Times Are These
There's a place
between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old
revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a
meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared
into those shadows.
I've walked there
picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a
Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country
moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of
making people disappear.
I won't tell you
where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the
unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden
crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already
who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell
you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because
you still listen, because in times like these
to have you
listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about
trees.
By Adrienne Rich
Courtesy The Poetry Foundation
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