for Jay Hamburger

 

She.
Her.
A nation is not a woman…
not even close.

But in all those songs
and even the odd poem
the writers of that time
saw you as one.

I never liked it…
women shouldn’t be womanized
for a song or any poem…
as far as a nation
many choose to live too…
it being simply a nation.

No woman really loathes life,
life being her fellow species.

Life is
all those trying to be alive
no matter where the borders
have said you can be found,
borders aren’t about all of us
staying away from political punches.

All the helpful forces like DACA,
movements of families and dreams
belong to you, Romerica,
nothing taken away
as the present stretches beyond
the sightless, the visionless,
who you will shake off soon.

Yet I look closely
and see them
holding the swabs ready to test,
strong in the hallways of hospitals,
wiping the mouths of dying mothers,
picking, picking, the food you eat.

Romerica, the battered one,
taking beating after beating,
all to see, all of your people
infected or not, allowing it,
so many marches onward,
what about for one needed now?

The one on behalf of those living
behind the skin of many colours
afraid to step outside
where the street leads to a dock,
or perhaps a beach where
no cages are found in the sand
and fears wear off for smiles you want
on the faces of those arriving
who have given up homelands,
to show up in the mornings
or if needed to take on a night-shift.

You are the battered one
on knees with too many bruises
and eyes blackened
by centuries of choices
to erect statues meant for a past
you have held to your misled head
where a house full of conning men
try to lead, try to be whiter than white,
a cause the rest of the world
watches you withstand, almost
as if it is deserved, hoping
the beatings will open cell-doors.

Somehow there will be sentences
ordered by a new, sane justice
one I want, one I wish for,
a justice about the need our
entire world will finally provide
but more for you, Romerica,
to begin what may prevent
the crumbling caused by fists
owned by the comical politicos
standing on you, full of energy
all about a need to hate,
disregard, drag along
no matter how heavy
or unnecessary for you
to open to a suppressed future.

People know what they see
and silence has never worked,
time has come for you
to seek help, if you do
don’t be surprised by the colour
of who brings it on,
takes away all the attacks and
perhaps, further racist possibilities.

She.
Her.
Lady said to be fat.
A remedy won’t be in a vaccination…
not even close.

A country is not a victim…
wake up, please, Romerica,
find the embrace for all of
who you are, who will be
what you become when voters
have the say,  healing of that oval room
comes, like leaves as they begin
to change their historic colours.