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A Conversation With Abraham Lincoln by Lelia Thomas

There I sat in a giant room,
A long table stretched afore me.
And I felt the watchful eyes,
Collective in the shadowy gloom.

“I know this is a dream,” I said,
And casually shook my head to
Dismiss the thickest fogs of sleep,
Lest I keep wondering what in shadows did creep.

A figure came to sight,
All dressed in a suit of gray and white,
And sat at the other end of the table,
A hand stroking his oiled and curly beard.

“Who are you?” I said,
“To disturb my sleep while in bed?
I’ve work tomorrow, and I can’t be
Bothered with cryptic messages.”

The figure laughed deep in his throat
And leaned his elbows upon the table,
Saying, “If I were two-faced,
Would I be wearing this one?”

I thought to myself, “I know that quote!
It comes from something an old teacher wrote.
But how on earth can this man know?”
Only a dream, I reminded myself.

“Who are you?” I asked again,
Hoping this time it wasn’t in vain.
“I know you from somewhere I’m sure…
If only you’d give me a name.”

“I go by many names,” said he,
“But yes, I do agree, you have known me
In the past, you see. Perhaps by the Union
And the Civil War won, for I, my friend, am Abraham Lincoln.”

I sat and stared before saying with a laugh,
“Come now, come now, with me you mustn’t chaff.
“You were shot by John Wilkes Booth.
See if you can argue that, Honest Abe, for that is fact and truth.”

“I would not argue what is true,” he said,
And so he turned round to show his head.
The patch of baldness was stark against his hair—
A gunshot wound, nothing more or less.

I was speechless at first,
For this felt so real to sit across from
The fabled man himself.
“Why have you come here?” I had to know.

He nodded and sighed and seemed weary.
“The States are divided,” he said quietly,
So quietly, for a man his size.
“And these leaders you choose are far from wise.”

“They’re politicians,” I argued.
“They’re all the same. It’s about their
Glory, self-gain, and fame.”
I softened my words. “They’re not like you were.”

“But they should be,
For I was cut from no different cloth.
The States are the same, but the people have changed.
What do you plan to do about that?”

“Me? I’m only a taxpayer,” I said wryly,
“A nine-to-five contributor
With credit debt and a second mortgage,
And children I hardly know,” I ended dryly.

Abraham frowned. “Too many men
Who were not wise yesterday,
Are still not wise today. I should not have
Asked so much of you, dear friend.”

I felt his presence slip gently away
And panicked at the table. “Wait!
Come back!” I yelled. “I won’t frustrate
You with my words. Just tell me what you came to say.”

His gray silhouette stood off from the darkness
And for a moment I thought of him as noblesse.
I froze as his mouth did open to address,
“Know where you come from

From God and the people who must unite,
Else you be overridden by a stronger force.
Determine your common course,
And believe in God that you will find a way.”

He disappeared then, leaving shadows
Where he had been. And I looked round,
All quiet and humble. And I silently said
A prayer for the nation, but it was only a dream.

Details

I wrote this in 2004 on a total whim. Abraham Lincoln is not my “favorite” of American history, though he ranks highly. I chose Lincoln because of the personality he had in life, the tart, matter-of-fact attitude he presented which gained him his “Honest Abe” nickname. This poem is about what America is becoming and whether one of the most revolutionary thinkers of our history would support us for it.