unfinished America
what do we see when we see unfinishedAmerica? We don’t see Indians with arrowschasing cowboys with rifles, we don’t seethe vast and rocky mountains, the northwardbreaking Alaskan seas, we see cities,their standing towers taller than any of uscould have imagined and glowing a darkorange in the setting sun. America hereis in each straightened street and two-storyhouse – each house different, with differenttrees, while inside different sets of Colonialfurniture sleep with different Italianplates, different German knives. Wild,completely wild, and no one even noticespackages of quinoa from South Americaand rice from the Po Valley. Now I amwalking, Japanese cars are passing, silentlypassing, driven by batteries from China,tires from the far side of our own river.On now and wild, irrevocably wildbrushes with bristles rising out of blueplastic and covered with homeopathictoothpaste, whatever that is – a thing wemay not ever know. Black mascara as eyesand a box with shifting pictures of menrunning at great speed right into each other –there on a green field under white lightsin a place beyond knowing except as wild,completely alive, unfinished America
