Awaken Me From This Mortal Dream

 

            In this dream,  the driver’s asleep at the wheel.

The dream won’t let the driver’s foot touch the brakes.

It’s night, and the headlights won’t turn on.

     In this dream, highways loop in labyrinths,

deer clog the exit ramps.  Wild fires

savage forests of magnolia, loblolly pines, mountain laurel.

Forecasters on the radio warn to stay inside,

shut the windows, don’t breathe the code orange air.

     In this dream, police hose a circle of water protectors

in the subzero dark, spray rubber bullets

and tear gas at Black protesters on freeways.

In this dream a  Syrian boy caked with bomb-blast

wipes blood from his eye with a tiny fist.

 In this dream, men in three-piece suits with fashy haircuts

ink swastikas on concrete benches,

grab the vaginas of women with dragonfly tattoos,

snatch the hijab off a mother’s head.

     In this dream a fevered white man in a church

shoots down nine Black worshippers.

      In this dream a president sings Amazing Grace

with his whole heart in his throat.

      In this dream a block-letter sign

outside a church with the tallest, whitest spire

shouts, “PRAY FOR DONALD TR**P.”

      In this dream a shard of grief  is lodged behind my breastbone.

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“My God, Help Me To Survive This Deadly Love”

“My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love”

Dear Cosmos, Dear Gaia, Dear Aliens on Earth,
Something-there-is that doesn’t love a woman,
Something-there-is that doesn’t love a child
Something-there-is that doesn’t love a protest
Something-there-is that doesn’t love this wall of words.
Something-there-is that doesn’t love.
Grazing each other’s beards to kiss, my brothers’ love
makes quiver the mouths of phobic Earthlings.
Something-there-is piles on lies to wall themselves in.
Something-there-is loathes a woman’s
blood, her milk, her wide hips, her breasts bared in protest.
Something-there-is refuses the Syrian child
washed ashore, his cheek turned to one side, as if in child’s
pose, his death not stark enough to awaken love.
Something-there-is throws grenades on protesters,
Native Americans circled in prayer who touch the Earth,
who protect the water that sustains our life. Women
are the watery portals we all pass through, a porous wall
we penetrate from one life to the next. No brick wall
mortared with hatred us can contain our childlike
trust that “no lie will live forever.” Women’s
rights are human rights, but not unless we love
our blackness, the origin of humans on Earth.
Something-there-is cages black bodies, protests
Black bodies, stops, frisks, gasses Black protests,
beats and murders black bodies behind cell walls.
How much of our comfort will we risk to free the earth
from this machine of distortion? Will our children
forget the sky once reflected blue before we love
the planet enough to disobey the spray-tanned man?
His rattling Tic Tacs warn  men and women
to flee the fetid breath no mint can mask. We protest
his code orange stink by committing ourselves to loving
even those who sting our eyes with pepper. The only wall
that divides us is made of fear and lives in us. A child’s
mind, a pure mind, is the force that binds us on this earth.
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Chattahoochee River, Cochran Shoals, November 25, 2016