Voting in Fridley
A Tribute to an Inauguration
by Bethany Nelson
As we watch the inauguration of the 44th President of the United States, we're reminded of the days we spent debating, deliberating and deciding for whom we would cast our votes. This poem is in honor of that day.
I cast my vote
in the nature center,
registering among stuffed loons,
bones of squirrels,
filling out my address, driver’s license,
perched atop a petrified stump.
Fall marshland colors staring
through the window
at crepe wrinkled fingers signing names
to the voting register,
same process (same place)
as decades before.
Why are the voters so old?
Interviews on TV are always with the young, the vibrant.
Why are there no lines?
I wonder if others smell museum dust,
fossils,
dried grasses,
as they mark their ballots?
Lines on CNN are stretching out the door.
Is this what they meant by pride in country?
An unexpected jump of feeling
swelling beneath red “I Voted” spheres.
Don’t mind us –
we’ve just popped in
to create our future.
Published 20 January 2009. All Rights Reserved.