SEPTEMBER 11TH BOMBING: “Queen Liberty” a dada poem

Queen Liberty
QUEEN LIBERTY
how do you get up
Queen Liberty
relight your torch
brush off the thick clay dust
tattered and torn
your heart shattered and worn
mensturating from every pore
as a sign of your fertility
your ripeness for a new dawn.
yet you have been shoved
to your knees, raped
and your face rubbed in the concrete
of your own foundation.
Yet like the Black woman you are
you hitch up your bosom.
Yet like the Native American you are,
your skirt fans the smoke signals of freedom.
Your Alamo outcries and
Little Big Horn loyalties
unite abruptly.
Like the immigrant woman you are
you grit your teeth,
and wipe your hands on the apron of your
sacred burial ground agonies.
Down rooted and tumbled,
you prepare the last meal.
A wake for your
twin tower children of spent cries,
deep southern fried chicken
snuggled up beside German potato salad,
neighboring with little shrimplets
riding upon a cushion of house fried rice,
saluted by a slab of Mexican cornbread.
You have so much to say,
but you own a new sorrow
no words invented can express…
September 11

(This is an excerpt from SHOUT, MAMMY SHOUT from the chapter about the effect that the bombing of America had on me. After September 11, I had the hardest time putting myself back together again. I could feel my ancestors surrounding me with dignified anger as I tried to teach myself how to breath again, after having watched over and over and over the breathtaking news footage of “the bombings”)
all the king’s horses
and all the king’s men
could not put
yolantha back together again


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