CHILDREN IN PIECES

one child
her bare feet crusted
with the gray dust
from her destroyed home
is locked in a
robotic
repetitive worrying
of her bomb-deafened ear

the roar
has not subsided
in her head
as her hand
circles uncontrollably
around the sound waves
no one else can hear

another child
receives a bowl of pasta
and bursts into song
jumping up and down
at the risk
of spilling the food
that is bringing unbearable joy

another small amputee
in PTSD
laughs one minute
then stares into space
as he tries on a makeshift brace

these children
hang on
to pieces
of themselves

these children
roam
day and night
listening
to the phantom pain
of their lost childhood

TRUMP’S GOLDEN DOME FANTASY

like two spoiled kids
lost in a delusional fantasy
of treasure hunting
and not even afraid
of any Long John Silver
Donald and Elon
delight
and
regale
themselves
in the magical thinking
that all they have to do
is wish
for gold and more gold
and the precious metal
will come running

they daydream
that Fort Knox has been raided
so that they
the Robin Hoods of the Rich
will launch
a gold war
to retrieve
the lovely bullions
they hope were taken
so they can be hailed
as golden heroes

they look
envious and cross-eyed
at the gold mines
of
the sovereign independent state
of Burkinabe
and
decree
the beloved son of Thomas Sankara
is
corrupt
when the mote of corruption
is in their own eyes

and now
the Iron Dome of Israel
is not enough –
oh, no,
the american empire
will steal from its people
twenty seven billion dollars
to build a Golden Dome no less
to impress
and repress
the sovereign independent states
they decree
are pirates and terrorists
in the Indo-Pacific ocean

WINNING WITHOUT ANSWERS

Alice B. Toklas to Gertrude Stein on the latter’s deathbed : “What is the answer?” Gertrude Stein : “What is the question?”

To my son, Malcolm, who relieved me of the angst of not being able to easily find the needles of answers in the haystack of the Police state’s classified and redacted replies

we are the ones
who from the plantation
were sentenced to live
with unanswered question
upon
unanswered question

we are the communities
who when we ask
questions
are criminalized
as “truthers”
just as back during Jim Crow
we could be lynched
just for saying one word :
” Why? ”

we are the culture
who must find peace
in passing on to our children
questions unanswered
because the Police state
has Fort Knoxed
the replies

we, the People,
have learned
that there is more
value and integrity
in our questions
than
in their hidden and twisted replies –
their lies

TO THE MAMAS AND BABAS IN OUR STRUGGLE

in Ghana, Africa
where my first child was born
I named her
Ama
and the Ghanaians around me
called me
Mama Ama

today
Ama has children of her own
and
i am now called
Mama Julia
as
we African elders are honored
whether
Mamas or Babas

i am humbled
because
it is also a way
of reminding me
that my inner child
needs attention
and
still has something
to say
or
write

it is a solace
because
from across the Middle Passage
unable to attend closed meetings
unable to march with you
unable to visit Mumia
i can still nurture
the struggle
in other ways

Fighting Words

Journal of the Communist Workers league

CHILDREN IN PIECES | TRUMP’S GOLDEN DOME FANTASY | WINNING WITHOUT ANSWERS | TO THE MAMAS AND BABAS IN OUR STRUGGLE

Poems by renowned Black leader and activist Julia Wright