june 17, 2004
(one)
sakia silenced me…
a year after her death
and the poems
still don’t dance
as they did before
we sang and chanted
and gathered in her name
we marched because
she was all of us
that night
when she was
walking home
from the one place
where her love and desire were respected
she walking home
with friends
she was almost home…
and we marched
in the rain
then sang and read poetry
in the sunset
in the one place
where our hurt and fear and rage
would be respected
the pier…
i can still see
all those young faces
holding each other
as i spoke words
of freedom and justice
i dreamt out loud for them
i dreamt of a time
when grown men
would not stab little girls
for rejecting their manhood
and i still dream
but part of me
went down
with the sun that day
words scattered like ashes
and the poems
no longer dance
like they did before
(two)
i think of sakia
in the winter
when my client says
her father beats her
because she has a girlfriend
and he does not understand
so she runs away
stays with friends or nowhere at all
sometimes she stays
with her girlfriend’s mom
but her father knows to look there
so she just runs and runs and runs
to nowhere at all
(three)
in the spring,
another girl
who has a smile
just like my niece
explains to me the charm
she wears around her neck
it is a broken key,
piercing half a heart
she says that her wifey
wears the other half of the key
and holds the other half of her heart
she smiles (just like my niece)
at how corny this is
but they have been in love
she says, for two years
and it is real enough
to be corny over…
(four)
my client’s father
has her arrested
and brought to court
he tells me and the judge
and all who will listen
how he has struggled and fought
to make her a good girl
but she insists on “doing things”
that offend his house
he does not say
that he punctuates
words like dyke and bulldagger with his fists
or that has tried to force her to date
the sons of his friends
he wants her placed
in foster care
somewhere structured
where she will be forced to behave
and be exposed to positive influences
the judge and i and all who listen
think that is a good idea
because my client
does not want to go home
and who ever said no to positive influences
i enjoy
the look on his face
when the judge agrees
with my request
to have her placed
in a lesbian foster home
in Brooklyn
(five)
the poems
do not want to dance
or entertain
they do not want to be content
or satisfied with theoretical freedom
they do not want to be pretty
or well accepted
they do not want to slam
they want to riot
to mourn and lament
they want sakia and steen and teena
and matthew and my clients and me
they want newark and jamaica and street corners
and locker rooms and high school hallways
and pulpits and the vatican
and the white house and the military
they want cures
the poems do not want to be
tragically homosexual
or queer eyes for straight guys
the poems want to love and fight
and break up and love some more
and vote and cry and dream
and come home at night
they want to gather names
and remember
always remember
the poems
will not dance for me
like they did before we marched
in the rain
for a 15 year old girl
and chanted her memory
to the sunset
but they are no longer lost
like ashes scattered to the wind
they come like summer storms
violent and awesome
essential and natural
inspiring stillness and prayer and change…
