A Hypothesis for History

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
excerpt from “Inaugural Poem” by Maya Angelou

‘
time, like a fingered prong

that prods us quizzically,

(but passes without waiting

for answers) it is only the unit

by which we, preposterous

students of history,

quantify the past

‘
I have a hypothesis for history:

step-by-step we must unfold

our stories like a large, cumbersome

linen towel mish-mashed

with truths and folklore,

wring free the trappings

of our animalistic withdrawal

from fear; let the inkpots spilled

reclaim their legacies in the

dripping dripping dry,

lay to rest the length

as it tapers off

bluntly at present;

(begin again from step one)

‘
does the replication of horror

in textbooks and graded essays lessen

the sting of an imbued insecurity?

ink, blue and black strokes

soaking up the utterances

of a new generation--

we are so civilized,

all children of a better age for all…

‘
it is our duty now to develop theses

explain the smell of clanging blood lifting

documented scripts close enough

to see yellowed sweat stains

the stench of an ancestral displeasure

unquenchable by joss smoke

spiraling, pondering at the altars

always rising (to the occasion)

if I inhale the precious plumes

with all its soil-scents and

heroic decadence

(whenever we are recounting )

need I ever bodily

live their pains

again?