DID WE NEED AI TO KNOW?
to Malcolm and Leah who have worked tirelessly for decades with whales without AI and who know …
so yes
we now know
we are being observed
and we know it
for sure
because AI told us so
and it is not
by extraterrestrial beings
although they too
may be listening
nor have Pegasus
or Robot spies
perfected
such an ancient vigil
full of patient wisdom
and the heirs of cointelpro
are dwarfed
by such superior intelligence
no…
AI informs us
we have been listened to
and discussed
down through the millennia
by giant creatures
who have long passed judgement
on us
AI has just decoded
the vowels
the alphabet
the sentences
the grammar
the inflections
the tempos
the rhythms
of the language of Sperm Whales
and a first sentence has been,
it is claimed,
scientifically translated –
an ever recurring sentence
exchanged from whale to whale
from herd to herd
from generation to generation:
a sentence decoded more and more often,
as the ocean is colonized,
four words ominously saying:
Beware of the ships…
Beware of the ships…
unless…
unless the self-proclaimed leader of the world
and his secretary of war
have funded AI research
to create
a whale translation app
because they need to manufacture a casus belli –
grounds for anti americanism
or even terrorism –
against a species
it would cost them their oil profits
to protect –
against whales
charged of slowing down their speeding warships
against innocent whales like us
but we did not need AI
to know
what our brothers
the whales
have long known
but we did not need AI
to know
what whales learn
from so many slain grandmothers –
the ancestors
they mourn
(c) Julia Wright April 29, 2026. All Rights Reserved to Malcolm Wright’s and Leah Lemieux’s forthcoming film.
THE BLESSINGS ARE IN THE DETAIL
a Spanish ship
shoots down
an Israeli drone –
an isolated incident
not worth a headline
in spite
of over one hundred arrests
and torture
splashed over the internet
the Global Sumud Flotilla slips past
and plows on
somewhere in Gaza
a little girl
proudly wears
a Press T-shirt
even though she can’t read
in Mali
the western-backed terrorists
stop to take selfies
and their vanity
reveals
their whereabouts
to the AES army
in France
an appeals court decides
on an arcane technicality
that Georges Abdallah
should not have gone free
except that there is
no extradition decree
between Lebanon
and Gay Paree
near Gay Paree
in the city of Saint-Denis
with discreet dignity
the twentieth anniversary
of Mumia Abu-Jamal Street
lit the candles
of continuity
the blessings
are in each detail
tucked away from virality –
blind spots
our eyes are trained
to see
in the dark
(c) Julia Wright May 2, 2026 All Rights Reserved.
WHAT THE STONES OF MUMIA STREET IN SAINT-DENIS WHISPER
To Mumia and Bally Bagayoko
it is May 2nd
and
In Saint-Denis, France,
Bally Bagayoko
the new Mayor
has spoken
and he stands
tall and unbending
like his brother Mumia
imprisoned
thousands of miles away—
and behind Bally
the street named
after the Voice of the Voiceless
runs a straight line
towards the horizon
this street
already leafy green
is in the image
of our struggle
that knows its only possible destination –
a path
that runs straight
toward the skyline of liberation
and
the porosity of stones
in a street that remembers
lets through
the echoed speeches
the songs
the shouts of joy
of those who
twenty years ago
left there
the sound of their footsteps
the imprint of their resistance
and the tireless hope
that the time would come
when Mumia, joyful, his gaze clear
not blinded
by the black sun
of his dungeon
would walk in his street
by our side
straight toward the horizon
at the dawn of a new day
radiant
(c) Julia Wright May 8, 2026. All rights reserved.
MY HEART’S INK
to Mahmoud Darwish who wrote about his poetry being a window into his lost land
to Greg Thomas who reminded me about George Jackson’s definition of remedy
what is poetry to me?
a thing
George Jackson calls
a remedy
what is poetry to me?
another world
where time and space
are my shield
what is poetry to me?
a landscape reclaimed
a dwelling regained
repaired with the bricks
of words
that refuse to yield
what is poetry to me?
a living breath
no algorithm or robot
can steal
what is poetry to me?
a sleight of rubble
resurrecting
the disappeared
what is poetry to me?
a furrowed page
a paper garden
my heart’s ink
(c) Julia Wright May 7, 2026. All Rights Reserved.
