On the Anniversary of the Assassination of JFK
Yesterday was the anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, but there is no news today. Yesterday, a blue moon filled the night sky. Yesterday, a bomb fell, a door opened, a soup cooled on the table. Yesterday, power was seized and relinquished in coups both bloody and peaceful. Yesterday, food was abundant/scare and we feasted/starved. Yesterday, colonists dressed as Indians dumped tea into the harbor. Yesterday, a mighty civilization ended and though it went nearly unnoticed, one family thoughtfully left a group of tools and clay pots arranged around a fire pit for posterity. Yesterday, a pair of feet stepped onto a new continent for the first time. Yesterday, a species diverged; one group climbed down from the trees and moved into an uncertain savannah, the other stayed in the branches, near the food. Yesterday, there was no awareness, no blurring of the lines between the known and the unknown. Yesterday, the Earth’s surface bubbled and roiled, the atmosphere a vast swirl of sulfur and methane. Yesterday, in a segment of time so infinitesimal, the big bang banged out all that is and would ever be. Yesterday was a good day, certainly, but there is no news today.
Clark Knowles teaches writing at The University of New Hampshire. He writes short stories that can be found in Glimmer Train and Pank. He has a novel, The Aurora Project, that is patiently awaiting a home. He can be found at www.clarkknowles.com
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