Today's poem is by Lisa Lewis

Poem Concerning Collapse and Forbearance
       

There is fear of the authorities and fear of authority.
There is turning people in to the authorities.
There is narrative inscribed in a vernacular
the authorities do not consider credible.

There is falling silent in the face of confusion.
There is a face that in the first hour appears angry
and in the second placid as a vase with a vine in its belly.
There is a future unsure of duration in safety.

There is a woman drowning in the pit of a swimming pool.
We discuss this image's source in popular culture,
but we also claim it describes us after we have been turned
in to the authorities. Sometimes we pretend

to be afraid when we're not. We move quickly through genres,
we tell others to slow down. We fear their authority.
We will develop the authority of darkened teeth
and a limp. We will grow into the authority

of that haircut. It's prepared to be cold, with a razor.
It veers close to crucial structures of the throat.
There is a badge protecting the parts you can't see.
What are we so afraid of? None of us has authority.

We gave it away when we took it up, we were too busy
to enforce our authority. Authority needs work to do.
Authority becomes a work of enforcing authority.
Nothing backs it. A hammock swings between trees.

Nothing holds it. The air beneath is shaped like branches.
Fall from the hammock, your authority impaled
on air shaped archly like branches. Open the letter
you received from a local authority. The watermark rises

like a notary embossing. We take such signs to indicate
what we can't open. No door, no sealed lid to mason jar,
no blade gouging the top of the tomato can with sludge.
Then the police come. They are on a secret mission.

It's in their hands. It dangles from their belts.
They think no one will know what they plan to do.

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Copyright © 2023 Lisa Lewis All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission