south dakota is wide and empty.
i once had a friend who swore it didn’t exist,
because he never met or heard of anyone
who had been there. it was a private joke
in my circle of friends. i knew it had a history,
but that’s all I knew.
now i know more: that it is sparsely populated,
that it has a legislature and a governor, that a rapist
or a molesting relative there has father’s rights, and a woman
has no right not to be pregnant.
i hate writing this type of poem,
in fact i won’t even call it
a poem, it’s just a cramp in the heart writ large,
it’s just what i always do,
begun because i feel superior to south dakota tonight,
and this is my puppet for public view.
so watch my hands do the dance of the poet
enraged. watch my mouth say the right things.
then watch me turn my back and go home to boston,
new york, chicago, san francisco…
the truth is i still don’t know south dakota,
its open plains, its frightened men and women, its self-satisfied
and triumphant public servants and their supporters;
and i’ll stay away from south dakota, i don’t want to know it at all,
that wide and empty place,
i’ll deny south dakota
until south dakota comes
to me.
Dark Matter 