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F.J. Bergmann
Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Contest 2023 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention, Poetry
for Richard Roe
The black van pulled up in front of the house. A team of men who moved quickly, like ex-
football players, rang the doorbell. They didn't wait long to knock hard enough to dent the door's
bright paint.
under the swelling moon
all colors change
except black
We thought perhaps someone had won a contest, a prize, until we saw that a few of the men had
circled to the back of the house. Until we saw their guns.
resistance on social media
words as weapons
not fully automatic
That family looked and talked sort of like us, although some of the other subdivision residents
claimed they had always seemed different. But only after they had been taken away.
easy to pretend
they're not real once they vanish
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A few of us came out of our houses to watch, but they gestured us back inside, threatened to
charge us when they saw phones appear. The children were crying.
does a democracy fall
if no one there
bears witness
The family all had their hands zip-tied. Then they were searched, efficiently and roughly. One
man pulled a phone from the pocket of the oldest girl, threw it on the asphalt and ground his heel
on it.
who feels more helpless
the ones held captive
or those only watching
Trucks brought in a crew, tools, front-end loaders. They dismantled the house: roof, siding,
drywall, lumber. A backhoe took care of the foundation. Then fill was brought in to make it level.
maps changed online
nothing at that address
redirecting to a .gov
A forest of weeds grew, sunken in over the footprint of the basement, where water briefly stood
after heavy storms. Neighbors called it a rain garden, claimed that was always its intended
purpose.
what didn't happen
what we can't forget
skull under the skin
