for Alice Walker
Do you know
that poets
in our hardest moments
in quiet attic battlefields
sit with you
to weep with joy?
Do you know
that humans
at our most afraid
carrying hearts so tender
act
because your actions
give us
faith in ourselves?
Do you know
as yet another person
loses sight of humanity
taking precious life
precious limbs
taking almost everything that matters
pointlessly
again and again and, fuck, not again,
until I want to rip the American
and, this month, the Earthling badge
off my burning human uniform
hurl them into dark forgiving space
submerge my inner being in deep quiet waters,
do you know I turn to you?
When I lose the will to continue
When I feel helpless and certain
that there is nothing I can do.
In that moment
this moment
Alice
I again find you.
Thank you for showing up every day
to answer your question
my question now too.
What does a poet do?
