I read through the comments
Of people on Instagram
Going back and forth about what happened
In history,
Never without an agenda,
Even if that agenda is simply
To set the record straight.
Though…
Truth can’t be carved out of eroded valleys,
Which time has already coursed through
Leaving behind only fractions of remains—
And not the other great expanses of events
That time sweeps away unflinchingly
Without making any marks.
The geniuses you’d never have heard of,
The crimes left unresolved,
The billions of everyday experiences,
The mundane, the profane, the sacred,
The goings on until expiration,
Lost, forgotten,
Impossible to name,
Impossible to describe,
Out of sight and outside time,
(For all intents and purposes).
Here, then, I honour all that has been wiped away,
Deleted,
Carelessly or carefully
Or by chance,
Knowing that history is not too far from a sham,
As best as we want to remember the glorious pasts,
We hardly have any connection to
What preceded our grandparents—
Not that our grandparents would speak of the killings
They committed, in wars and in peace
Or the “spoils of war” they “claimed.”
History is more a tool than a science,
More our artistic creation than
Accurate observation,
A way of showing more than knowing,
Revealing what interests you more than
What actually occurred.
Because when you think you know something
About everything that has ever happened
You’re probably wrong.
No comments:
Post a Comment