On Reading June Jordan
I read your Passion on the train to
work. Early morning has a calm
before the rush. Like birds in flight,
lifting off so gently.
Who cares where they land?
Your words meticulous and open
like a big city or a secret that
everyone knows, but is not
supposed to know.
I read to know and feel the
self. How to float or sink with
words but stay alive.
There is a system that dreads
resistance. It builds police
stations in ghettos to office
officers and offenders.
But they are the same. These
ghettos without wings. With
staying power. That I walk
through with life in hand
and dreams in head.
We are the only people that
allow other people to
educate our children.
What tools do I use to
dismantle that which seeks
to dismantle me and my
kind?
I catch the 7:16, 7:21, or 7:30
train to work. My thoughts
are missing. I catch them
before they fall to my heart.
The train rolls across a city of
secrets and more. There is a
thump. There, in your words.
It jolts me to life.
What tools do I use to
dismantle that which seeks
to dismantle me and my kind?
