Scissor-tailed Flycatcher

Our hands were calloused once,
the birds would flit in fields,
chasing grasshoppers off perches.

Those fields were plowed
by grandfathers,
by their grandfathers,
tilled by their horses,
and planted with our foods
in an Oklahoma freshly wounded
by wars and broken treaties.

We were busy running from
countries that no longer felt like home,
too busy rebuilding our families
to notice how the soil we dug
had been taken from a people
whose lives had become
defined by their deaths,
a people who never had the luxury
to find themselves too busy to care.

Still, the birds respected us then,
in our collective mourning.
They were here before,
in an uninhabited and hostile land.
They were here when we marched
our shame into this place,
when it was easier to pretend that
some people aren’t worthy of respect.
If they knew the truth,
they never showed it.

I wonder if flycatchers tell the tales,
if they gather to hear about the time
before the fenceposts,
when the fields were filled with
butterflies and grasshoppers.
I wonder if they cast us as the villains,
if they can see who we really are.
I wonder when they learned about us,
when they began to see our cruelty.

They are moving northward,
the fields still full of food,
away from the children
of the children of the children,
too many generations to understand
this place or to love the land,
away from the deceptions,
away from the delusions,
away from the cowardice.

I’m waiting for Spring,
and I’m watching the fields
for the dancing grey birds,
while they still visit us here,
and I wonder what we have learned,
and how much we still lie to ourselves.

Notes

Written 7 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Scissor-tailed Flycatcher” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Quentin Clingerman Has Died

The winds are picking up
blowing trash into my yard
and announcing a storm that will
fall apart before it arrives.
The worn out flags and crosses
still look as majestic as they did,
but I’m opening by insides
and filling my pages with secrets.
I’m waiting for critiques
by entrenched folks who think
too much about the sex lives
of other people, of my sex life.
I want to reveal myself again,
try to make people see my words
and my techniques and stop worrying
about who I’ve kissed or
who I haven’t, but wanted to.
I want to edit volumes of poetry
about God and America and guns,
poems filled with the lies we tell ourselves
and enjoy them because the author
knew how to write the words beautifully.
I don’t want to read the judgement.
It starts to rain and I’m surprised;
I thought the rain would miss us.

Notes

Written 21 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Quentin Clingerman Has Died” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)Continue Reading

It’s been a stormy weekend, which I love.  The rest of the week felt  a little chaotic, but life in general seems a little chaotic right now.  I did start working on an art project, which I hadn’t done in a very long time!  I’m excited about it, but more I’m excited to just get a few things done finally.

I’ve been working on my Thoughts On Humans series, and I’m enjoying writing it.  I do worry that I babble a lot and say very little, but I’m hoping that I get better at making coherent thoughts as I do it more.  I’m also trying to figure out how to get the word out that I’m active again.  I love having people who are reading and commenting, but I had been inactive for so many years that I need to rebuild that group.  I don’t want to annoy folks for sure, but I do want to figure out how to get the word out.

This world seems to be falling apart.  I try to keep my politics to myself, but I cannot fail to comment on the imprisonment of children whose parents are seeking asylum.  I don’t know why anti-immigrant sentiment has gotten so bad, but it is unAmerican to not allow in those in need of help or in search of new opportunities.  There is never a time when someone needs to be repressed.  When we lift people up, we all rise and this world becomes a better place.  There is a persistent narrative being pushed that immigrants are coming to take our jobs and commit crimes against us.  That is blatant racism in my opinion.  There aren’t droves of people just waiting to come destroy us.  We are a melting pot, a mix of native, immigrant, and forcibly relocated people.  We are a country without a single culture or color, a land where the rest of the world should be able to look and see endless diversity.  Tribalism and racism dressed up as nationalism is unacceptable.  It’s also antithetical to the values so commonly invoked: American, Christian, human.  Hate cannot be defeated with hate, and so the way forward is difficult.  Those of us who believe that loving our neighbor is a core piece of our morality will have to work hard to combat the hate with love.