To Burn the Autocrat in Effigy
Christian Teresi | Poetry
The garden where his soldiers hanged an old woman
Again smells of petrichor and tomato vines.
His daybook was written by thin-necked deputies.
It will be used as evidence against him.
His name is no longer a punchline spoken secretly.
The branch that held the noose now holds a swing.
No teacher has been burned alive for believing
The earth revolves around the sun for a very long time.
The bomb-shattered windows that littered the schoolyard
Have been replaced. Children again play pretend
Soldiers on the rebuilt playground. They know a young woman
Was found in the house behind the school. They know her name
Was Anna. She was found shot in the head in the potato cellar.
The school is the same one she once attended. Her photo
In the potato cellar wearing nothing but a frayed fur coat
Is used as evidence against him. It wins a prestigious prize
For photography. The school’s bomb shelter is now storage
For textbooks. There was a time when books were scarce
And few could read. Children pass the bomb shelter entrance
And do not know what its sign means. The word human
Comes from the Latin, humus, meaning black earth.
An old hunting dog dreams it can still catch grouse mid-air.
Generations of crows have lived without tasting human flesh.
Beneath the sickle-shaped moon the earth still revolves
Around the sun. Builders approach the ruins counting
Salvable bricks. The ballerinas never stopped rehearsing.
Christian Teresi is the author of What Monsters You Make of Them (forthcoming in fall 2024 from Red Hen Press). His poems, essays, and translations have appeared in many journals, including AGNI, The American Poetry Review, Blackbird, The Kenyon Review, Literary Hub, and Narrative. He lives in Washington, DC where he works on international education and public diplomacy initiatives.