Powell
“i am your worst nightmare”
—black man to white
this is that dream I wake from
crying, then clutch my sleeping wife
and rock her until i fall again
onto a battlefield. there,
they surround me, nations of darkness
speaking a language i cannot understand
and i suspect that something about
my life they know and hate and i hate them
for knowing it so well. my son,
i think about my son, my golden daughter,
and as they surround me, nearer, nearer,
i reach to pick up anything,
a tool, a stick, a weapon and
something begins to die. this
is that dream.
(powell was one of the officers
who beat rodney king.)
walking the blind dog
for wsm
then he walks the blind dog muku
named for the dark of the moon
out to the park where she can smell
the other dogs and hear their
yips their puppy dreams
her one remaining eye is star lit
though it has no sight and
in its bright blue crater
is a vision of the world
old travelers who feel the way from here
to there and back again
who follow through the deep
grass the ruff of breeze
rustling her black coat his white hair
both of them
poets
trusting the blind road home
hands
the snips of finger
fell from the sterile bowl
into my mind and after that
whatever i was taught they would
point toward a different learning
which i followed
i could no more ignore
the totems of my tribe
than i could close my eyes
against the light flaring
behind what has been called
the world
look hold these regulated hands
against the sky
see how they were born to more
than bone see how their shadow
steadies what i remain whole
alive twelvefingered
wind on the st. marys river
january 2002
it is the elders trying to return
sensing the coast is near and they
will soon be home again
they have walked under two oceans
and too many seas
the nap of their silver hair whipping
as the wind sings out to them
this way this way
and they come rising steadily not
swimming exactly toward shore
toward redemption
but the wind dies down
and they sigh and still and descend
while we watch from our porches
not remembering their names not calling out
Jeremiah Fanny Lou Geronimo but only
white caps on the water look white caps
the tale the shepherds tell the sheep
that some will rise
above shorn clouds of fleece
and some will feel their bodies break
but most will pass through this
into sweet clover
where all all will be sheltered safe
until the holy shearing
don’t think about the days to come
sweet meat
think of my arms
trust me
stop
what you are doing
stop
what you are not doing
stop
what you are seeing
stop
what you are not seeing
stop
what you are hearing
stop
what you are not hearing
stop
what you are believing
stop
what you are not believing
in the green hills
of hemingway
nkosi has died
again
and again
and again
stop
— for Nkosi Johnson
2/4/89–6/1/01
september song a poem in 7 days
1 tuesday 9/11/01
thunder and lightning and our world
is another place no day
will ever be the same no blood
untouched
they know this storm in otherwheres
israel ireland palestine
but God has blessed America
we sing
and God has blessed America
to learn that no one is exempt
the world is one all fear
is one all life all death
all one
2 wednesday 9/12/01
this is not the time
i think
to note the terrorist
inside
who threw the brick
into the mosque
this is not the time
to note
the ones who cursed
Gods other name
the ones who threatened
they would fill the streets
with arab children’s blood
and this is not the time
i think
to ask who is allowed to be
american America
all of us gathered under one flag
praying together safely
warmed by the single love
of the many tongued God
3 thursday 9/13/01
the firemen
ascend
like jacobs ladder
into the mouth of
history
4 friday 9/14/01
some of us know
we have never felt safe
all of us americans
weeping
as some of us have wept
before
is it treason to remember
what have we done
to deserve such villainy
nothing we reassure ourselves
nothing
5 saturday 9/15/01
i know a man who perished for his faith.
others called him infidel, chased him down
and beat him like a dog. after he died
the world was filled with miracles.
people forgot he was a jew and loved him.
who can know what is intended? who can understand
the gods?
6 sunday morning 9/16/01
for bailey
the st. marys river flows
as if nothing has happened
i watch it with my coffee
afraid and sad as are we all
so many ones to hate and i
cursed with long memory
cursed with the desire to understand
have never been good at hating
now this new granddaughter
born into a violent world
as if nothing has happened
and i am consumed with love
for all of it
the everydayness of bravery
of hate of fear of tragedy
of death and birth and hope
true as this river
and especially with love
bailey fredrica clifton goin
for you
7 monday sundown 9/17/01
Rosh Hashanah
i bear witness to no thing
more human than hate
i bear witness to no thing
more human than love
apples and honey
apples and honey
what is not lost
is paradise
the message from The Ones
(received in the late 7
0s)
beginning of message
your mother sends you this
you have a teapot
others have teapots
if you abuse them
they will break
you have a gift
others have gifts
if you abuse them
you understand
she advises you
you are special to her
she advises you
we are not she
come to here
each morning
for a word
we will bring
logos
with us
to this table
this chair
meet us here
each morning yes
why you
why not
you
are not chosen
any stone
can sing
we come
to languages
not lives
your tongue
is useful
not unique
we are ones
who have not rolled
selves into bone and flesh
call us the ones
we will call you
one eye
field of feeling
singing ear
quick hand
we will make use
of these
in the saying of
you
we will sometime
be general
and sometime
particular
in the saying of we
we are we
we are here
between the lines
you reach through us
to raise your morning cup
you have assigned us countries
of the dead
but we are neither dead
nor emigrant
we are just here
where you are
why should we wander bone yards
draped in linen
flesh is the coat we unfasten
and throw off
what need to linger among stones
and monuments
we have risen away from all that
wrapped in understanding
some of you have been blessed
or cursed
to see beyond yourselves
into the scattered wrongful dead
into the disappeared
the despised
none of you has seen
everything
none of you has said
everything
what you have not noticed
we have noticed
what you have ignored
we have not
you come to teach
and to learn
you do not know
anothers lesson
pay attention to
what sits inside yourself
and watches you
you may sometime discover
which when
which which
in the geometry
of knowing
we have no new thing
to tell
only the same old
almanac
january
love one another
february
whatever you sow
you will reap
we
who have not been
human
have not learned
to love it
more
human is neither
wiser
nor more blessed
it is not wise
to count oneself
the only servant
of ones lord
it is not wise
to count oneself
the favorite servant
of ones lord
god
is
love
no
god
is love
is light
is god
no
place here
the name
you give
to god
is love
is light
is
here the name
you give
to
yes
the angels have no wings
they come to you wearing
their own clothes
they have learned to love you
and will keep coming
unless you insist on wings
you who feel yourself
drowning in the bodys need
what can you know clearly
of fleshlessness
there is no hunger here
we come to you directly
without touching
you who lie awake
holding your mouth open
receive us as best you can
and we enter you
as we must
tongueless
as best we can
you wish to speak of
black and white
no
you wish to hear of
black and white
have we not talked of human
every human comes
to every color
some remember
some do not
you are not
your brothers keeper
you are
your brother
the one
hiding in the bush
is you
the one
lying on the grate
is you
the mad one in the cage
or at the podium
is you
the king is you
the kike is you
the honky is you
the nigger is you
the bitch is you
the beauty is you
the friend is you
the enemy oh
others have come
to say this
it is not
metaphor
you are not
your sisters keeper
you are
your sister yes
the universe requires the worlds
to be
each leaf is veined from the mother/ father
each heart is veined from the mother/ father
each leaf each heart has a place
irreplaceable
each is required to be
you have placed yourselves
in peril
not by your superior sword
but by your insignificant
quarrels with life
no by your quarrels with
insignificant life yes
there are some languages
some fields some sky
the lord of language field and sky
is lonely for
they have been worlds
they will be worlds again
your world is in grave danger
whether in spirit
or out of spirit
we don’t know
only that balance
is the law
balance
or be balanced
whether in body
or out of body
we don’t know
the air
you have polluted
you will breathe
the waters
you have poisoned
you will drink
when you come again
and you will come again
the air
you have polluted
you will breathe
the waters
you have poisoned
you will drink
the patience
of the universe
is not without
an end
so might it
slowly
turn its back
so might it
slowly<
br />
walk away
leaving you alone
in the world you leave
your children
what has been made
can be unmade
saints have begun to enter
wearing breasts
hoping for children
nursed toward wholeness
holiness
The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton 1965-2010 Page 20
