For My Own Protection by Essex Hemphill

For My Own Protection

 

I want to start 

an organization

to save my life.

If whales, snails,

dogs, cats

Chrysler and Nixon

can be saved,

the lives of Black men 

are priceless

and can be saved.

We should be able

to save each other.

I don’t want to wait 

for the Heritage Foundation

to release a study

stating Black men 

are almost extinct.

I don’t want to be

the living dead

pacified with drugs

and sex.

 

If a human chain

can be formed

around missile sites,

then surely Black men

can form human chains

around Anacostia, Harlem,

South Africa, Wall Street, 

Hollywood, each other.

 

If we have to take tomorrow 

with our blood are we ready?

Do our s curls,

dreadlocks, and Phillies

make us any more ready

than a bush or a conkaline?

I’m not concerned

about the attire of a soldier.

All I want to know

for my own protection

is are we capable

of whatever

whenever?

Think of Others by Mahmoud Darwish

Think of Others  

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others 

(do not forget the pigeon's food).  

As you conduct your wars, think of others 

(do not forget those who seek peace).  

As you pay your water bill, think of others 

(those who are nursed by clouds).  

As you return home, to your home, think of others 

(do not forget the people of the camps).  

As you sleep and count the stars, think of others 

(those who have nowhere to sleep).  

As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others 

(those who have lost the right to speak).  

As you think of others far away, think of yourself 

(say: "If only I were a candle in the dark"). 

(Translated by Mohammed Shaheen)

Most Days I Want to Live by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Most Days I Want to Live 

Not all days. But most days

I do. Most days the garden’s

almost enough: little pink flowers

on the sage, even though

the man said we couldn’t eat

it. Not this kind. And I said,

Then, gosh. What’s the point?

The flowers themselves,

I suppose. The rain came

and then the hail came and my love

brought them in. Even tipped

over they look optimistic.

I know it’s too late to envy

the flowers. That century’s

over and done. And hope?

That’s a jinx. But I did set them

right. I patted them a little.

And prayed for myself, which

is embarrassing to admit

in this day and age. But I did it.

Because no one was looking

or listening anyway.