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.
***
Inauguration Day
By Kayla Pearce
I
I walk into my classroom to
find
that my pulse races when I
see a student in a red hat:
Cardinals. I spend the next 80
minutes lecturing
about rhetorical devices and
waiting for my palms to stop sweating.
II
I pass white men taking
solitary strolls in red hats.
One laughs to himself until
I see another
laughing back from the other
side of a window,
a nod shared between the
two.
This victory lap
was pre-meditated: evidence
hangs heavy
around his midsection, pant
legs hitched
at the thigh to reveal the
tops of his socks,
a peek of skin. I picture
them laughing again
later over his bravado and
stale pretzels—
their wives at home, pulling
yellow gloves
up to their elbows for the
night’s dishes.
III
I used to envy the 60s, I tell my
officemate.
They had such righteous indignation.
Later, I’ll see photos of
another bombing in Aleppo,
and lose my dinner of sweet
red wine.
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