the words bubble in my mouth
rise and rise until they eventually burst!
they are the bubbles of blood that filled assata's chest
as she lay on well worn new jersey turnpike and breathed...
spheres of anger inside me as i sat and read her story
as the words jumped from their sentences
and burned themselves into my brain and made my eyes well with tears
because i could do nothing
i couldn't sink myself into the pages
slip between the lines and change the story
tears because of how much has never really changed
the words want to burst forth
to tear down bricks of lies stacked miles high
and make me sad at the same time
those eyes staring back at me from the photo make my poetry useless
i want to fashion my words into chains
to loop across water and pull her into the safe haven
of those who believe her story
to make her not have to hide
because people are still hiding behind their lies
and hatred of what they do not see reflected in the mirror
i want to see her raise her fist in triumph
on grainy black and white film and digital full color screens
she should be victorious
able to smile without having that smile monitored
and analyzed by shadows lurking in the corners of her life
those bubbles crowd my mind and make me wonder...
if oceans still seperate her daughter from her embrace
or if her arms still feel empty at night
as she tosses and turns in her memories
wonder if she is close enough to wrap herself in the good tidings
tossed from america's shores and far enough away
to sidestep grenades lobbed at her feet
...feet that have been dancing in my dreams
drawing her into me
her story flowering in my mouth
blossoming into roses to cover the foul conditions
that seemingly contained her for years...
upon years that should have been
her winters/summers/springs and falls...
the chains must fall way
release themselves from her wrists
and let her be free...