Triggers

Triggers

A Poem by Marie Anzalone
"

Response to majority supremacy in the US and abroad. Read on international radio July 6, 2020

"

"Triggers"


I.

 

I would not be a poet,

if I did not feel the terror

of extinction, held

like hatred by so many living

components of this little blue marble;

if I did not also hear the prayers,

of every oppressed man in history,

who turned his face to the moon

when his brothers, turned their backs,

on him. I could not call myself a poet,

until I knew the story of every girl

in my class, afraid to raise her hand

when she knew the answer. I cannot

be a poet, until I learn to love the free-

 

as much as my cultures adore the idea

of freedom, but secretly hate

every young woman or old man

who has the audacity, to find it,

live it, grow it in their gardens and

basements and printing presses.

I will not be a poet, until I know

how and when and where

and with how much intensity-

to takes sides, to take a stand,

to take a book, to take a knee.

 

II.


The woman jealous of love,

scorns the other, who lives, free

and alone, in her own small home,

earning her own keep on her own terms.

The man afraid of his inner voice

fill’s God’s silence with useless noise.

Those who never bought a painting

ridicule the artist;

those who never wrote a letter

to a dead lover, say the poet’s words

have no value.

 


III. 


“They” made me do it, you say.

Hangs wrung in false helplessness,

and I had no choice. But-


Your mother may have chosen

your toxic lover- but you chose to stay.

Your cousin does not ask to be insulted

for being gay- you learned the words.

George Floyd did not kneel

on his own neck; the system you built,

did that. The devil did not pull the trigger-

you did. The immigrant did not steal

your culture- you sold it.

China did not steal your job; you

refuse to pay a few extra cents

to your own neighbor.

Your girlfriend did not make

you abuse her to the point

she doubts her own sanity.


Without the food harvested

by the poor, you starve.

Without Indians to protect your water,

you die of thirst. So do the salmon.

The boy you lynched or shot

for being out of place on your street-

he did not disband the power

of the court. You did.

 

IV. 


Stop making excuses.

Stop making others responsible

for what you do or did.

Own it, take back control-

of your hands, your words.

I would not be a poet,

if I swaddled your comfort

in a warm blanket, changed its diapers,

and fed it honey from a plastic spoon.

 

© 2020 Marie Anzalone


Author's Note

Marie Anzalone
translated from my original in Spanish. 2020.

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Featured Review

When I read this I feel a powerful struggle to understand our history and the need to break free. We can always learn from our past but it's so important to understand the present to grow from experiences whether good or bad. Without the past struggles of others we would be so uneducated on how to forgive and change moving forward. I really enjoy writing that challenges and makes you dig deep. Great job!

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

When I read this I feel a powerful struggle to understand our history and the need to break free. We can always learn from our past but it's so important to understand the present to grow from experiences whether good or bad. Without the past struggles of others we would be so uneducated on how to forgive and change moving forward. I really enjoy writing that challenges and makes you dig deep. Great job!

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on July 9, 2020
Last Updated on July 9, 2020

Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start argume.. more..

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