As the
incoming administration builds its agenda of attack on marginalized people, on
freedom of speech, on the earth itself, poetry will continue to be an essential
voice of resistance. Poets will speak out in solidarity, united
against hatred, systemic oppression, and violence and for justice, beauty,
and community.
In this
spirit, Split This Rock is offering its blog as a Virtual Open Mic. For the
rest of this frightening month, January of 2017, we invite you to send us poems
of resistance, power, and resilience.
We will post every poem we receive unless it is offensive (containing language that is derogatory toward marginalized groups, that belittles, uses hurtful stereotypes, explicitly condones or implies a call for violence, etc.). After the Virtual Open Mic closes, we hope to print out and mail all of the poems to the White House.
We will post every poem we receive unless it is offensive (containing language that is derogatory toward marginalized groups, that belittles, uses hurtful stereotypes, explicitly condones or implies a call for violence, etc.). After the Virtual Open Mic closes, we hope to print out and mail all of the poems to the White House.
For
guidelines on how to submit poems for this call, visit the Call for Poems of
Resistance, Power & Resilience blog post.
***
Incantation
on the Eve of 2017
by Monica Rico
by Monica Rico
I turn
bread into tortillas.
I leave
dried guajillo chiles in my wake.
My hair
is wild cilantro.
My
footprints are poinsettias.
My tongue
is an eagle whose wings will shout.
The
fringe of my rebozo is made of infinite braids.
I dare
you to touch.
I am a
field.
My hands
are dirt, my fingernails roots.
Diego
Rivera has painted them.
My bones
are made of corn and chiles.
My
stomach is arroz con frijoles.
My lungs are comino y canela.
My blood
is lemon and salt.
In my
fingerprints are the spines of nopal.
Each one
of my feet has six strings.
My steps
are canciones, ground down cigars and ash.
La llorana leads my Mariachi band.
¡Toca la guitarra!
I paint
streets the color of mangoes.
My face
is all skull and a halo of carnations.
My elbows
are molcajetes ready to grind and smash any fool
who tries
to build a wall around me.
Watch it
crack like a tostada.
My
shoulders are black doves.
My eyes
are Ultima's owl, bless us.
It is my
comal that will save.
Say my
name!
Say La Raza!
We will
sing until we raise hell.
¡Otra más!
As
Emiliano Zapata chose to stand, we stand.
¡Vamos!
The
statue of Liberty has stepped aside
for nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.
From Her
robe fall no tears, only roses.
The
crescent moon offers enough light for us to be on our feet
Among the
stars,
Among the
holy,
Among the
mole.
We are
America.
Our
guitars, our tongues are aimed at you.
Loaded
and heavy as fruit, ready to explode.
Previously published in Cleaver Magazine’s Life as Activism! Series.
Previously published in Cleaver Magazine’s Life as Activism! Series.
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