Charlottesville Elegy

There’s a single eye that hovers

Above this city, hovers

By day and by night.

You might assume

It’s the sun or the moon,

But I’ve lived here

Forty years

And never seen it before.

It isn’t the bitter eye

Of racism, which haunts

Alleys and grocery aisles;

Nor the icy eye of privilege—

I’ve seen that many times,

Shining above the university

Or gazing down

On Farmington’s lawns,

Groomed

Smoother than golf greens.

It’s not the Internet’s eye,

That can’t sleep

For the fever dreams

It breeds.

Not the secret eye

Of the pine’s cut stump;

Nor the eye of the poor

That has seen it all.

It’s not the black eye

Of notoriety,

Nor the blue one of denial.

It’s not the State’s blank eye,

Made of papier-mâché,

Nor the eye of the police

That was looking the other way.

It’s not the eye of violence

That would strike

Lightning if it could;

Nor the eye of love

That sees, but doesn’t judge.

Neither is it Jefferson’s eye,

Inert in bronze repose;

Nor that of Sally Hemings,

Startled even in eternity.

(It’s certainly not

God’s eye—

that turned away eons ago.)

It’s not the eye of witness,

That winced;

Nor the eye of grief

That wept briefly,

Then resumed its journey

Through

This ruthless world.

Undeceived, unassuageable eye;

Remorseless eye—

It’s come to remind our city

Of a proverb

Older than the Pyramids:

If you’ve closed one eye to evil,

You’d better not blink.