New World
I did not walk through a wardrobe
or follow a rabbit into a hole
or stare too long into a looking glass.
My house was not swept up in a tornado
The naïve woman I was, secure in my belief
that shocking lies and bad behavior
could never bear fruit, died
when the public followed the pied piper.
What was once a granite foundation
has become sandstone, eroding from ill winds.
Apathy grows slowly like the buildup of callus.
Even war zones are homey when bombs are a habit.
The sun has set on the democracy of my youth
and I am lost in my own country.
by JeanMarie Olivieri
from The Typescript