My Country: ‘tis of thee we sing…
Two giant nutcrackers guard the door.
Johnny Carson’s Burfie blinks green. He hesitates, but the pull from the chain around his neck makes him continue forward.
“Probably not the place for me,” he says to the nutcrackers, hopefully.
“Burfie, hello,” they say.
The doors open.
And without him taking a step, they close behind him.
He appears to be in legislative chambers, but the image is foggy and unclear. It changes as he moves. Walnut. Leaded glass. Fags and portraits blend into ….
an Indian village?
A boy sits on the ground, an arrow held by his toes while he shaves its edge. Behind him, a woman is scraping a thick buffalo skin and two children are chasing lizards.
But, without any obvious transition,
he is also in a cabin
where a boy is bringing in some firewood, and a man is reading by the window, and a woman is nursing a baby.
And then he is in the legislative chambers.
Two flags droop behind the Great Chair, flanked by portraits half lost in shadow.
In front of it — far below — there is a table with a chair. To this, Burfie pulls him.
He sits as Burfie instructs.
No one is in the Giant Chair.
Then, from the Tiki room above — appearing in unsteady bursts like an old person a scooter — is a shiny round fiberglass snowman with painted yellow hair, holding holding a wand.
The snowman is lowered too far and disappears behind the desk.
With jerky motions it rises again.
“Washington Irving,” says the gold nametag.
After the vibrations fade away, Washington Irving swings his wand back and forth across the room.
The chamber is suddenly filled with people.
Only people. Like looking into mirrors set to repeat into infinity until all the differences between men, women, children and babies are but pixels on a screen and there is just the one sunk into the last one which is sunk into one before.
The people are all singing:
My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing…
The voices, gathered from all the different places and all the different times and all the different languages settle from the gentle cadence of a singing wave.
Until it becomes a standing wave.
And the people disappear.
The chambers have returned.
Johnny Carson remains at the witness table facing the Great Chair.
But he has, apparently shrunk. Because Easter Island escapees appear to tower above him.
On both sides. Darth Vaders.
With Johnny Carson in the middle.
Johnny Carson considers standing up and running out between their legs.
But his Burfie is magnetized to the table.
The Washington Irving mannequin begins to jerk again.
Finally, it stops with the wand pointing to the Darth Vaders on one side — who raise their rifles.
And then to the Darth Vaders on the other side — who raise their cannons.
Johnny Carson is in between.
Time to squeak the rubber chicken! Johnny Carson looks back and forth — shaking his head. “No. No. No. Don’t shoot. Really… I haven’t seen the script…”
No one hears him.
They march in unison and sing:
God save our gracious king
Long live our noble king
God save the king
Then they freeze and disappear — existing only from instruction to instruction.
Washington Irving turns slowly as if on a turnstile and, wherever his wand is pointed, people appear.
The villagers on both sides.
Softly singing.
Gently singing.
Carrying signs of urging pro-life.
O cradle of the womb,
Save infancy from doom…
Hear our plea!
Life in God’s vessel lies
Light from children’s eyes
Let mercy be!
And from those emerge the women feeding the baby at dawn, again at mid-morning, again at noon, again in the afternoon, again at supper, again before sleep,
changing diapers at breakfast, changing them again before lunch, again in the afternoon, again after supper, again before bed, and again in the night when the cry wakes her,
nursing until her breasts ache, nursing again before the ache fades,
washing clothes, folding clothes, changing clothes, hanging clothes, pulling them back on small bodies only to wash again,
bathing the baby, drying the baby, bathing the baby, drying the baby, bathing the baby, drying the baby until the hours blur together,
holding the baby when it cries, rocking the baby when it cries, walking the floor when it cries, and still it cries.
Tending the sick, encouraging the flagging, prodding the lazy, and never sleeping never sleeping never sleeping..,
Still she helps with the homework, gathers the children from school, shops, cooks, cleans, and takes her husband’s clothes to the drycleaner…
And rushes off to work.
All while hoping there’s enough money to pay rent next month.
Holding signs that say “My body; my choice” the women sing:
O woman strong and free,
No chain shall silence thee,
Lift up thy voice!
Life is not man’s command,
Nor bound to his demand,
Your rightful choice!
And, then, again, in a choir of all women:
O cradle of the womb,
Save infancy from doom…
Hear our plea!
Life in God’s vessel lies
Light from children’s eyes
Let mercy be!
As these fade out, the fence appears across the chest of the Darth Vaders on both sides — their guns facing one another.
O homeland, guard the gate,
Stay thy neighbor’s blade…
Defend our land!
Land where our fathers died,
Land of the white man’s pride!
From every mountainside,
I … take my stand!
Those warriors freeze and the Indian families in their teepees sing:
O strangers on our land,
Made in God’s own hand,
We hear your plea!
Love strangers as your own
Bring Elijah to your home
(God sent him not alone…)
See the least of thee!
And all the blades reply:
O rifle strong and true,
Our fathers carried you,
Across our land!
The faithful must be armed,
The true and just unharmed
A gun in every hand!
The families sing:
O cradle of the womb
Save our children from the doom
Of guns.
Land where our children die
Land where our bullets fly
Land where the mother’s cry:
Stop!
Then everyone appears at once, including the Darth Vaders:
My country, tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Make this your law!
Make us victorious
Happy and glorious
Required for all!
And Washington Irving says:
My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing…
Johnny Carson’s Burfie beeps green.
Finally, he can get to the bathroom.
Sweet, liberty!
He runs!