Donald Illich: #NotTrump Series

Donald Illich: #NotTrump Series

The New Morning


The morning was called something else now.  

It was filled with shoveling dirt, shooting conspirators.  

The clouds turned salty red, and the light that flashed 


over our faces was dooming us all.  The cities looked 

hazy in the distance, though we could tell it was smoke 

coming from their centers, fires that were not willing 


to shut down.  We whispered the new word for dawn, 

the new language for dew, for breakfast, for beginnings.  

All these things were willing to be something else, 


like our bodies were prepared to contort themselves 

in other directions.  The only thing that didn't change 

was the leftover moon in the sky.  It acted jovial over 


people hung on platforms, ecstatic over the movement 

of bodies into graves.  If only we could shoot it, watch it 

crash into transports, crowds of people cheering them on.

Donald Illich has published poetry in Rattle, Nimrod, Sixth Finch, The Iowa Review, and other journals.  He lives in Maryland.