HAVOC IN AUGUST
Now the night sky has cleared a dying star flares
momentarily near the horizon,
and, above, Ptolemy’s Constellations –
Andromeda, Perseus, Pegasus,
Cassiopeia. Far below are twelve
of Elon Musk’s satellites in, as it were,
apostolic succession, nose to tail,
like any old circus act: transmitting
images of working class white men and youths
setting hostels and libraries aflame,
bellowing with hateful self-righteousness,
close-cropped heads contorted with bigotry;
images of their masters’ talking heads, coiffured
and smirking, inventing conspiracies
as tenuous as constellations; others,
paid to govern, serious and spruce,
with explanations as misleading
as any astral story; and those
who know racism when they see it,
and say so – and who have always known
that pieces of debris burning out
across the silent sky portend nothing.
Hugh Powell
September 26, 2024So much to reflect upon. A lifetime of images – liberal, wise, always moving, sharply defined but enigmatic as your diving seal. And suddenly I am reminded of the seals that Itimangnark and Irkowagtok hunted and how the Inuits respected the living things they hunted and killed. You are out there on the sea ice, under the stars. Such wisdom.