For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours
***
For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.
***
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love with vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid.
***
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
*In honor of Denver PrideFest, which I write about on Tuesday. This is one of my favorite poems. I suppose it sounds a bit depressing, but I read it as a call to action.
But for the last thought I read it as a generalization of the human condition. We’re never happy… no matter what we have. In the midst of revolutionary outrage it might be a good idea at some point to count our blessings and enjoy what is already within our grasp.
This is so true for everyone.
Great work.
Marinela´s last blog ..Diamante Poem
Bernard, I’d like to see you say that to her face, but she’s been dead for 17 years. Perhaps she wasn’t so grateful for being a lesbian in pre-Stonewall New York. Perhaps she was. Perhaps being black from the 1930s on didn’t fill her with gratitude either. Perhaps it did. She was a feminist who pointed out where other feminists were missing the boat by lumping all women into one category. She always wanted to bring things down to the specific. I think replying “count your blessings” to a poem like the above is a way of dismissing it because you’re uncomfortable with it.
Beth Partin´s last blog ..Juneteenth* in Denver: Three Conversations