Peace is not some blushing cherub
tiny fat hands clasped and tiny eyes closed
lips pursed in holy reverie
while bombs explode convenience
and not profit
bursting, bloody in the background.
Peace is not the face of some refugee child
painted with a symbol that no one really knows
dirty and starving and naked
dancing on camera for billions
for nothing.
Peace is not the returning soldier
sailing through placid sky and sea
without the slightest recognition,
without the sanctity of life.
Peace is not M16s at Fulton Street Station
or 125th Street or the Grand Concourse,
carding me as if I'm about to
get my groove and/or drink and/or freak on
when I just want to go home.
Peace is not offering the opportunity of welfare
when my job is gone
when my rent is due
when my lights can go at any minute
and I'm hungry and still anxious
choking on ash.
Peace is what my mother taught me
that, whatever I choose, I can be.
Peace is knowing I'll do my best
in a world where my best doesn't look like the rest.
Peace is walking down the street
sensing the subway underneath
feeling it rumble, hearing it bay
and knowing that everything's okay.
mmmm… nice.
Peace is having a friend who is your friend at all times. Peace is something deep inside that whispers to you that everything is fine even if it is not fine. I am happy to see that you started to blog again. I have to post to my site. Aunt Sallie’s house is beautifully done in pastels. I guess I am supposed to guess which one is send? You should see it! “I love you Donald”.
Coolness. You have a gift.
wow i am learning that i have all of these poets around me. i suppose it makes sense that those of us who are linked in this way share quite a few things. i feel your piece even as i read it on keith boykin’s site.
We do have some poetry greats among us! I know Assotto is smiling down on us through a shady grin … LOL!