A Chance to Cry, A Chance to Fly
There is a song that goes, “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, oh Lord… standing in the need of prayer.” It is a Spiritual, a song created and sung by enslaved Africans in this nation. Legend has it that this song came about as plans for a slave revolt were being made and the people began singing to ask forgiveness for the death and destruction that was about to ensue. In this issue of the Fo(u)r 4, poet Suzi Q. Smith presents a meditation on power.
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TO OUR WARMONGERS AND UNAPOLOGETIC CONQUERS
SUZI Q. SMITH
I don’t want to go to war with you.
Would rather try a little tenderness,
raise my babies, grow our food and continue on
like so many other women in the world,
but you have polluted our soil.
Our land is fertilized with the bodies of civilians,
the earth soaked through with blood of women and children
doesn’t matter now what nation they were killed in,
the ocean tides are bringing them ashore
and I hear them,
Smell their ashes in the wind every fourth of July.
I hear them coming,
I will not stand with you when they do.
Their blood is on my hands
as long as I am near you.
I have written letters.
Have rallied and organized and spoken out, I have voted,
and only find the lines in the sand drawn more clearly,
it is love or
it is murder.
I am walking the fence between the two,
ever more certain that I must reduce the weight
of your heavy hand
or relieve you
of your heavy head.
It is my head too, now
fashioned you upon my shoulders
and marched, trudged, buckled
beneath your weight
humming ‘yankee doodle’ all the while.
How can we now pretend that we are separate?
Suckling from the same marrow
you have given birth to me,
nursed me with the same immunity
for compassion.
Perhaps your mother weaned you too soon,
the disconnect from human flesh
left you seeking a warm that can only be found
inside other peoples’ bodies
there is a remedy for this.
I am offering up my nurturing,
know I am the softest place
can coax out the violence
brewing in the sum of your man parts
and ease it.
Can show you ways to feel the warmth of a person
without splitting them in half
you must not know this trick yet – I can teach you, I must teach you;
I see that I am becoming more like you each day,
You should be proud and terrified.
Lady Liberty and I have been talking lately.
I’ve been raising questions of responsibility
and my own ability to kill
and I am becoming less frightened
of the answer.
I tell her it is hard to believe
in the power of words
when you refuse to listen
so I am wrapping up my language in
sticks and stones and launching
I tell her your brutality has already made me
both murderer and prostitute,
you should not be shocked
when there are only two things
I can properly do.
I am willing to get close enough
to feel your breath,
the weight of your hands,
I‘ll keep your body as my talisman
your ears as souvenir,
whisper warning to them when other heads
begin to grow back in their place:
We women are not afraid of a little blood
Will kill you close enough
to touch you.
I do not want to believe
that ending your life is the only solution.
I long to believe that beneath your
smug demeanor there is something
almost human.
I need to press my palm
against the beating of your heart
to make sure that you have one.
I need to believe that if offered enough love
you will choose it,
and I am offering the best I know how to give,
my love is good, I am convinced of this;
it is strong enough to make a man change his ways
I am offering you a chance
to change your ways
and I wonder when I have one palm
open against your cheek,
a razor in the other hand pressed firmly
to your fattened neck
if you will seem more human to me,
if I will see the fear
behind your eyes as my victory or
your misplaced chivalry;
if I will be able to make you hear me.
I need you to hear me.
I need you to know
that the only blood
you are entitled to
is your own
if I have to make you choke on it
and I can do it
I know
I can do it, please
don’t make me
do it.
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ARTIST. STATEMENT.
“Absolutely – here is a piece for you, though it might be a bit risque . . . let me know.”
- email from Suzi Q. Smith to M. Liz Andrews
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ABOUT THE ARTIST
SUZI Q. SMITH has been writing poems for many moons. She is mother to an amazing eleven-year-old daughter who fills her life with joy. Her work has been published in numerous anthologies and literary magazines, while her name is well known among the slam and spoken word circuit. She has been featured on several television and radio programs, and recordings of her poetry and songs have been sampled and remixed all over the world, earning both high acclaim and controversy. Suzi Q. is also known as an Activist working with civil rights organizations, victims advocate organizations, arts organizations, peace organizations, and more.
Currently, she resides in Denver, Colorado and can be found reading poems and leading workshops in coffeehouses, colleges, night clubs, universities, detention centers, gardens, and any place that poetry can be read aloud.
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04Dec10: “A Chance to Cry, A Chance to Fly… ” by M. Liz Andrews, Suzi Q. Smith is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.LetterToObama.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.LetterToObama.com.
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