That Monstrous Country
That monstrous country where I lived
when I was a child,
where everybody looked like me;
that monstrous country
where we played cowboys and Indians,
and the Indians were fierce warriors,
and the cowboys rode over the hill
to save us;
that monstrous country
where the good guys always won,
and the bad guys died peacefully,
tumbling down like leaves
and lying still;
no blood, no shattered bones;
that monstrous country
where the good guys always
looked like us-
that monstrous country
is still with us.
The wounds are bloody now.
This is a poem I wrote during another dark time, in 2017. God bless the people of Iraq and Iran. And of my country, too. May we all work for peace, and help to bring it.
Mary Johnson