The tribe
of soaring strangers, the curious, the blooming—
Joseph Brodsky in a Labor Camp for writing the people’s language,
Adrienne Rich … “Take ourselves more seriously/
…a deeper listening cleansed of oratory, formulas…”
I thank them for the future—
The double narratives of Louise Gluck, spacious and small for
Memory not yet imagined of children separated at the border.
The real the will Rita’s “Thomas and Beulah” bringing to life
More than a muse could create.
You ask about resistance and how we can keep going, I say,
Blake’s revolutionary “meet on the coast/ glowing with blood…”
Words rinsed off from a corrupt court Patricia Smith: “All my fists at once?”
Espada with “Music and Spanish rose before the bread…/ Praise the bread…”
We praise the bread of those who are our tribe and where we are strong,
Even those on either side of the fence where language flies across
Like unchained birds.
