Post-. Wayne Miller

      They hang in that space

      where a world was built

      in fits and erasures—she wants

      to lift that world

      into her own.

      Meanwhile, this world

      floods her thoughts,

      her voice; it fills

      the windows, the streets

      she moves through;

      it reaches into her

      as the air reaches into her lungs.

      Then, before we know it,

      here she is with us

      inside the book.

THE PEOPLE’S HISTORY

      The People moved up the street in a long column—

      like a machine boring a tunnel. They sang

      the People’s songs, they chanted the People’s slogans:

      We are the People, not the engines of the city;

      we, the People, will not be denied.

      Then the People

      descended upon the People, swinging hardwood batons

      heavy with the weight of the People’s intent.

      And the People surged, then, into the rows before them,

      pushing the People against the blurred arcs

      of truncheons, the People throwing rocks

      into the plastic shields and visors,

      behind which

      the People blinked when the rocks hit, then pushed back

      so the mass of People before them compressed.