Art by Chittaprosad Bhattacharya
Let Them Not Say by Jane Hirshfield
Let them not say: we did not see it.
We saw.
Let them not say: we did not hear it.
We heard.
Let them not say: they did not taste it.
We ate, we trembled.
Let them not say: it was not spoken, not written.
We spoke,
we witnessed with voices and hands.
Let them not say: they did nothing.
We did not-enough.
Let them say, as they must say something:
A kerosene beauty.
It burned.
Let them say we warmed ourselves by it,
read by its light, praised,
and it burned.
Other powerful poems I read this week:
"I am wearing dark glasses inside the house
To match my dark mood.
I have left all the sugar out of the pie.
My rage is a kind of domestic rage.
I learned it from my mother
Who learned it from her mother before her
And so on."
-from Enough by Suzanne Buffam
"It wouldn’t be possible not to be kind
In the Land of Beginning Again,
And the ones we misjudged
and the ones whom we grudged
their moments of victory here,
Would find in the grasp of our loving hand-clasp
More than penitent lips could explain…"
-from The Land of Beginning Again by Louisa Fletcher
"The giant mound of human ignorance
Centuries old
And rigid in its determination
Did move, however slightly, however infinitesimally,
It did move." -from Abundant Hope by Maya Angelou
"After being humiliated one continues the manuscript of identity.
Activities, diseases, doldrums, the crony affair after the situation,
the one where one faces how one is the undertaste,
how one isn't the neighbor, the piebaker, a white folk. How one isn't a gorgeous
dream wrapped up in tireless affection, primped for wider screens." -from On Immigration by Prageeta Sharma
"I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds
and a dead child dragging his shattered black
face off the edge of my sleep
blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders
is the only liquid for miles
and my stomach
churns at the imagined taste while
my mouth splits into dry lips
without loyalty or reason" -from Power by Audre Lorde
"If anyone stumbles across it,
return it to me, please.
Please return it, sir.
Please return it, madam.
It is my country. . .
I was in a hurry
when I lost it yesterday." -from Home, a transitive, by Tsering Wangmo Dhompa
Links of the Week:
Cyclist Anthony Hoyte’s Christmas-inspired bike rides
Citizen poems to rage against the dying of the light Art to fight the system The Language of Flowers Postcard Protest 'Eco-anxiety': how to spot it and what to do about it How to Talk Politics With Your Conservative Family as 2019 Ends in Chaos How to help someone with depression + an illustrated guide to practice self care in distressing political times
It's been a tough couple of days. Keep reading up about what's going on in this country, stay safe, and let your loved ones know you love them.
It doesn't feel very merry, but Merry Christmas nonetheless!
Sending virtual hugs and warmth,
Rohini