a poem by Toi Derricotte
Because there is too much to say
Because I have nothing to say
Because I don’t know what to say
Because everything has been said
Because it hurts too much to say
What can I say what can I say
Something is stuck in my throat
Something is stuck like an apple
Something is stuck like a knife
Something is stuffed like a foot
Something is stuffed like a corpse
Copyright © 2020 by Toi Derricotte.
Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 3, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.
7 comments:
George can be whatever you want him to be - saint or sinner.
I don't think that crude binarism is helpful. The point is that he (whether saint, sinner or ordinary, wary (if not scared) African-American on the street) was murdered gratuitously by someone supposed to be a representative of a Just Society which preaches its hollow (if not cynical) values to the rest of the world along with weapons, Coca-Cola and oppressive forms of Christianity.
I am sure you remember Jan Palach ?
I hope that, one of these days, an African-American will summon up the strength to set himself alight or blow him/her self up in front of the White House, or the Capitol of Jackson (Mississippi) or in Times Square, or in front of the United Nations building in New York.
NOW IS THE TIME. Next week might be too late.
For more on Jan Palach, see
https://english.radio.cz/jan-palach-8046147
Thank you for the Jan Palach link.
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