Archive for category injustice
For Maribel Trujillo-Diaz, deported last week to Mexico
In the dark before dawn the birds sang as
Maribel was snatched off the streets by ICE agents—
her four American-born children,
ages 3, 10, 12, and 14,
never got to say goodbye to their mother
In Fairfield she worked processing chicken parts
she paid taxes, went to church,
made a family, made a simple life…
now her deportation is
breaking my heart
newsfeed comments roll past
smelling as I imagine chicken innards on a
conveyor belt might smell,
“Go home to YOUR county and think about
what you are going to do with the rest of your life,”
says the red-headed woman whose profile picture is a
parti-colored “Kindness Matters” meme
“She caused the breakup of her family when she
decided to live her criminal lifestyle,”
says another woman grinning in full Irish regalia,
forgetting about her own ancestors who fled from famine,
many of them illegally
“The blame is solely on her,”
says the beefy red-faced man
whose facebook page overflows with
snaps of him and his wife and three kids
at an Easter-egg hunt after church
“If she was in fear she should have
gotten help long before now,”
chides the woman whose profile picture
says “Happy Easter!” superimposed over
a closeup of her kissing her blonde toddler
“Why does this get so much attention?
Is she the only mother that has
Ever been sent back???” asks the woman
who’s also proudly posted she’s
FINALLY past level 65 on Candy Crush
“The law outweighs compassion,”
says Butler County Sheriff Richard Jones
‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’
says the second commandment
In Fairfield tonight, four children cry for their mother,
who did not get to tell them goodbye
‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,”
says the second commandment, again, falling on deaf ears
ears closed hearts closed
as tight as their bibles
closed to Maribel,
closed to Maribel’s children,
closed to mercy
closed to compassion
closed to loving their neighbors
and the closed ones
harden, harden, harden
pass the hours
The sky today is milk-colored, snow is flurrying down and the naked trees shiver in the wind.
It′s a day when anything might happen, in a world where everything is shifting under my feet.
Things I thought solid suddenly slippery as black ice—
It′s a day to breathe in the chill air and watch your exhale make a tiny cloud. A day to remember what a mystery that was when you were a little girl bundled in your red parka, itchy wool mittens attached by clips.
It′s a day to remember America was not great back when you were a white child in the white suburbs outside Toledo, in a brand-new tract home in a place called Sylvania. No. It wasn′t great. “Great” was merely the undercurrent of every advertising slogan, “Great” was a story spun by ad men and sales men and con men. (They are still selling you fear and telling you it is happiness).
Men who sold your mother on the notion that the ache in her heart could be eased by a Midol or a Virginia Slim′s cigarette or a new Chevrolet or an A-Line dress. Men who told her that her uneasiness was her own fault, and that comfort would keep her safe. Men who peddled fear and separation and complacency. The TV glowed and mama stopped looking at the trees.
(Her eyes were sad but the jingles told her she was happy.)
You were a little girl, and you felt that ache. Feel it still, when big flat televisions trumpet
news news news.
And so you′ve learned to look outside.
It′s a day to look at the milky sky and the black arms of the trees shivering and remember the world is not black and white, not wrong and right. A day to remember that anyone who tells you the ache in your heart is nothing is a liar, or someone who wants to steal your life from you. Anyone who tells you to stop feeling what you are feeling may as well tell the trees to stop trembling in the March wind. Might as well tell these tardy snowflakes to stop falling.
The ache is there to help you. Listen to it.
Denial of what is will pull you under, into despair.
Acceptance may break your heart, but a broken heart is an open one.
Let the snow fall into your heart.
Feel what you feel. Cold, alive.
After all, anything might happen, if your heart and eyes are open.
It’s like some evil game
of Simon says
Why do so many people
who look like me
comb over the footage,
looking for a misstep?
The questions begin,
cloaked in willful blindness
the cloak victim-blaming
“Yeah but–was he
Why didn’t he
The wrong questions,
world without end
Just ask Charles Kinsey
if hands up & unarmed
& lying on your back
on the road
begging for reason
will keep a black man from being
shot if someone decides
he looks like a threat
because he is breathing
Like someone decided
Tamir was a threat,
sitting alone, dreaming
that will never come true.
I dream of a world where
people who look like me
will ask vastly different questions,
again and again
until this world ends
And a new world opens
one where police will be expected
to protect and serve
a father of four
car broken down
who has his hands in the air
is the absolute expectation
A world where
would still be here