Amadou, Ana, Fania, Suheir
Rafi, Ife, Carlos, Concha
Judah, Johannes, Sadie, Salwah...
the missing among us
exiles, refugees
homeless castaways
those sharing
the nomenclature of displacement
never yet considered citizens
in the official national narrative of denial
camp out
keep coming everywhichaway
overflowing known borders
clinging
to what can be carried
and the breath
sustaining waves
naysaying all confines
as they shed their reservations
and break-dance for life.
this scarf
proclaims Palestine
though it be worn in Detroit
that shawl
El Salvador
another shred
says world-wide schtetl
and this cicatrix,
Nigeria's
tribal rite.
Felashas airlifted
from one front line to another
Haitians share isolation
and despair of ever
finding sanctuary anywhere.
dark children
of no war
clamber over piles
of contaminated grain
collecting all they can
their world
a dune
of blood-red sand.
their hands extended
needs unmet
project beyond
all heads of state.
there is no war
but in the ghetto
bredren trade blows
over salvaged carton
concussed
twice-cursed
tying box together
to make house
ina dry dungle
whe' nah good grow.
how raise a flag to dis?
"beside the golden door"
they say
there is no war
but we ketchin' dus'
goin' bust
rusted from no use
while the body count mounts
tethers abound
shackles are
back
slavery stay wid we
and Sam Cooke's Chain Gang playin'
still
ain't out of date.
when will we realize
we all afloat in dis boat?
that there is no hope
in lighting out alone?
when will the hands of hate
stop using our legs
as their wishbone
breaking apart home
with the snap
of a finger?
who will suture our wounds?
how will these shards we share
quilt a pattern of peace
to rest easy with?
we linger uncertainly
tensed
for the present imperfect
and future conditional
snagged at junctions
no longer functional
the raw particulars of personal mutilation
edging jagged defences.
if only suffering were the coin
of safe passage
our way would be wide
if only memory were sufficient
as a guide
we could glide into the dawn.
but in this moment
of frayed circuitry
failing light and broken connections
it seems to me
that blackbirds
or any other line alone
have wings too fragile
to hang hope on
not to mention
imaginanation.
in the USA
they say
"things take place"
(and indeed, they do)
but how strange
this construction sounds
passive distancing
of agency
and cause
denying existence to untrammeled space
with this sense
of how life happens
it must be easy
to overlook responsibility.