In remembrance of the folks killed on September 11, 2001 and all who are killed every day every where in the name of holy, right, or good wars. Suheir Hammad's words broke my heart, comforted, and inspired me at the same time when I first read them ten years ago. I offer my own after hers.
First
Writing Since
by
Suheir Hammad
there have been no words.
no poetry in ashes south of canal.
no prose in trucks driving debris and dna.
evident out my window an abstract reality.
sky where once was steel.
smoke where once was flesh.
please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot’s
heart, the plane’s engine.
god, please, don’t let it be anyone
who looks like my brothers.
i don’t know how bad a life has to break in
order to kill.
i have never been so hungry that i willed
hunger
never so angry as to want a gun over a pen.
not really.
even as a woman, a palestinian.
never this broken.
ricardo on radio said in his accent thick as
yucca, “i will
feel so much better when the first bombs drop
over there.
a woman crying in a car parked and
stranded in hurt.
i offered comfort, a hand she did not see
before she said,
“we’re gonna burn them so bad.” my hand went
to my
head and my head to the dead iraqi
children, the dead in nicaragua. in rwanda
who vied
with fake sport wrestling for america’s
attention.
people saying, this was bound to happen,
let’s not forget u.s. transgressions.
hold up, i live here. these are my friends
and fam,
me in those buildings, and we’re not bad
people, do not support america’s bullying.
can i just have half a
second to feel bad?
thank you, woman, who saw me brinking cool
and blinking
tears. opened her arms before she asked “do
you want a hug?”
big white woman, and her embrace only people
with flesh can offer.
“my brother’s in the navy,” i said. “and
we’re arabs”. “wow, you
got double trouble.” word.
one more person ask me if i knew the
hijackers.
one more motherfucker ask me what navy my
brother is in.
one more person assume no arabs or muslims
were killed.
assume they know me, or that i represent a
people.
or that a people represent an evil. or that
evil is as simple as a
flag and words on a page.
we did not vilify white men when mcveigh
bombed oklahoma.
give out his family’s address or church. or
blame the bible or pat fucking robertson.
networks air footage of palestinians dancing
in the
street, no apology that hungry children are
bribed with
sweets that turn their teeth brown.
correspondents edit images.
archives facilitate lazy journalism.
and when we talk about holy books, hooded men
and death, why
never mention the kkk?
if there are any people on earth who
understand how new york is
feeling right now, they are in the west bank
and the gaza strip.
bush has waged war on a man once openly
funded by the cia. i’ve read too many books to believe what i am told. i don’t
give a fuck about
bin laden. his vision of the world don’t
represent me or those i
love. but i’ve signed petitions for years to
out
the u.s. sponsored taliban. shit is
complicated, and i
don’t know what to think.
but i know who will pay.
women, mostly colored and poor, will have to
bury children, support themselves through grief.
in america, it will be those amongst us who
refuse blanket attacks on
the shivering. who work toward social
justice, and opposing hateful policies.
“either you are with us, or with the terrorists”
- meaning keep your people under control and resistance censored. meaning we
got the loot and the nukes
never felt less american and more brooklyn,
than these days. these stars and stripes represent the dead as citizens first –
not
family, not lovers.
my skin is real thin, my eyes are darker. the
future holds little light.
my baby brother is a man now, on alert,
praying five times a
day the orders he will take are righteous and
not weigh his soul down from the afterlife.
both my brothers - my heart stops - not a
beat
disturbs my fear. muslim, gentle men. born in
brooklyn
and their faces are of the arab man, all
eyelashes and
nose and beautiful color and stubborn hair.
what will their lives be like now?
over there is over here.
across the river, burning rubber and limbs
rescuers traumatized. skyline
brought back to human size. no longer
taunting gods.
i cried when i saw those
buildings collapse on themselves like a
broken heart. i have never
owned pain that needs to spread like that.
there is no poetry in this. causes and
effects.
symbols and ideologies. mad conspiracy here,
information we’ll
never know. there is death here, and promises
of more.
there is life here. anyone hearing this is
breathing, maybe hurting,
but breathing for sure. if there is any light
to come, it will
shine from the eyes of those who look for
peace and justice after the
rubble and rhetoric are cleared and the
phoenix has risen.
affirm life.
affirm life.
we got to carry each other now.
you are either with life, or against it.
affirm life.
Suheir Hammad is a
Palestinian-American poet and political activist. She has published a book of
poems, Born Palestinian, Born Black and a memoir, Drops of This Story.
Shout Out
to the OGS: Osama, George, and Sadaam
by Cathy Arellano
richman
osama thinks it’s time
for his
religious hour
tells 19
fanatical fatalists
to fly
planes into twin towers
of global
trade
and five
triggered fist
of
imperial power
this
inspires george
to
declare a crusade
he
readies, aims
bombs
afghanistan
to attack
the taliban
too bad
he didn’t raise a hand
when
girls were pulled from school
and
pushed to wed
though
young enough to still wet the bed
george
bombs caves
to shake
qaeda loose
but he
overlooks egypt’s martial law’s noose,
the
general-called-president in pakistan,
and the
emir of kuwait
who still
hasn’t set the date
when
women can vote
though
his democratic regime was saved
twelve
years ago
somehow
our friendship
with the
saudi monarchy
home of
fifteen of the fliers
stays as
strong as the oilgarchy
oligarchies
aren’t a middle east only deal
we’ve got
our own
let’s
keep it real
this
country’s richman
son of
central intelligence,
this
supremely selected leader
groans
against affirmative action
though
with average grades
he gained
admission to his daddy’s yale
then
drove drunk and avoided jail
george’s
brother neal has been awol
since
silverado savings and loan failed
his other
brother jeb
governs
the state
that had
the highest rate
of vote
and voter rejection
make no
mistake
george is
from the elite
and no
matter what
will
never give up that seat
though he
swears up and down
it’s not
lust for oil
or
revenge making him fight
his
daddy’s foe
we all
know that ain’t so
it’s
george’s watch
in the
house of white
he’s not
going to botch
the
chance to run the country
like a
fortune 500 company
just look
at “rice-a-cheney
the oil
industry treats”
george
restricts civil unions
and civil
rights
deregulates
corporations
in the
name of saving the nation
with this
richman
it’s
business as usual
the
attacks on liberties
also
happened in sadaam’s state
that military millionaire
gassed his own people
he disgraced them and their land
when the cia funneled dollars to his hand
so he would fight iran
these
rich men don’t have their eyes
on the
prize
but on
the other guys’ size
of
weapons of mass destruction
it
doesn’t take much deduction
to figure
out from this point
how
things will function
blood
will shed for oil
the poor
of iraq afghanistan pakistan
and this
land
still
place second
and for
girls and women
no matter
how many burqas we wear
or where
we bow our heads in prayer
it comes
down to the daily struggle
for food,
water, and air
but
richmen don’t care
they
don’t pay for war
from
their pockets
it’s not
their kids
getting
shot by rockets
if
richmen’s kids fought wars
maybe
their fathers
would
find other ways
to settle
scores
instead,
richmen give poor folks guns
send them
far away to bleed
or keep
them close
throw
them in jail
and don’t
let them read
richmen
get nervous
when the
people know what they need
these
richmen show no shame
they act
like their bank accounts
reflect
their piety
erase the
notoriety
of how
they obtain their wealth
but the
message jesus and mohammad
preached
for spiritual health
was love
one another
not rape
your sister
kill your
brother
the next
time one of these richmen
bows his
head and prays to the dollar
we gotta
stand up and holler
we must
remember
that any
fundamentalism
that
denies the fundamentals for all
is just
old-fashioned tyranny
are you
hearin’ me?
ballots
will be bought
bullets
will be shot
as the
OGS fight
to
extinguish our light
but if
you’re hearin’ me
let’s
lift our eyes, raise our voices
each day
and every hour
cuz
there’s no force
stronger
than the people’s power
now it’s
time to end this poem
so please
slip one last fact
inside
your dome:
regime change begins at home