History

History / Joshua Alan Sturgill

Even our most dour and prudish historian
cannot help but render the Past as a reclining nude.

Though he invokes Evolution to veil her misdeeds
and paints her against a backdrop of named epochs,

beneath the flowers and folds of costume the mattress sighs indecently
and her legs lapse into an unmistakably vulgar pose.

She mocks Enlightenment. Development of Doctrine she dismisses
with a rude gesture. Is she petulant or merely bored?

Dare we describe her brazen cleverness as Geist, as a kind
of Progress? Ah! If only there were enough data!

Our historian, to maintain the respect of his peers,
must propose a uniquely plausible theory.

He studies the angle of her arms, he sets his assistants the task
of measuring the distance between her nostrils

and comparing the lengths of her toes. She ignores him
or is simply unaware, amusing herself instead with thoughts obscene

and absurd. How else to escape, always within her eyes
her furtive, skulking shadow?