I get it. There is nothing inherently
creepy about an empty swing swinging
on an abandoned playground. But
the ghost pushing it is a problem.
You remind of my friend, America.
She used to say weird things, like,
“All men are created equal.” And:
“The fact that my heart is a sieve
means it holds other hearts within
and lets everything else drain away.”
Mostly that means blood, but also
other matter. Like the cloudy fluid
of memory. You’re not meant to
ask about origins. This country is
a colander. It holds what it wants,
wipes down easily, but the rivets
are showing rust. It is not dusk.
The sun is high so we’re finally
seeing things. What did you expect?
Happiness is there to taunt us.
Why else merely promise its pursuit?