04-07-2021, 08:13 PM
The Awakening
In 1980 they buried me
at Hains Point, in East Potomac Park
as part of what they called
the National Peace Garden.
Yet I found no peace as I struggled
to free myself from the mud.
I laid there for 27 years, begging
for release.
My right hand reached out
17 feet, to break loose. But it was
no use. I thought I’d be stuck
forever, but then they sold me
down the river, like a slave
and brought me to a fake beach
at National Harbor. Now kids
crawl all over me, and tourists
take selfies- can’t they see!
I’m crying out in agony.
Even you, flying in from the south
to National Airport
just look out the window
down below, and bear witness
to my misery. I am reaching up
to you, calling out for rescue.
The Awakening, by J.Seward Johnson, JR
In 1980 they buried me
at Hains Point, in East Potomac Park
as part of what they called
the National Peace Garden.
Yet I found no peace as I struggled
to free myself from the mud.
I laid there for 27 years, begging
for release.
My right hand reached out
17 feet, to break loose. But it was
no use. I thought I’d be stuck
forever, but then they sold me
down the river, like a slave
and brought me to a fake beach
at National Harbor. Now kids
crawl all over me, and tourists
take selfies- can’t they see!
I’m crying out in agony.
Even you, flying in from the south
to National Airport
just look out the window
down below, and bear witness
to my misery. I am reaching up
to you, calling out for rescue.
The Awakening, by J.Seward Johnson, JR