by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz
There was a guy in the open mike who said, I don’t
have any poems about black presidents. I’m sorry.
I know it’s important, but I just don’t have any.
And I wanted to say, I know what you mean. I only
have one such poem, which isn’t bad, until you take
into consideration that I have two poems about giraffes
which have been trained to rape. Then, the percentages
aren’t so flattering. In my defense, these giraffes actually
existed in Ancient Rome – where else? – and they were
used to punish political criminals. And the idea of them
is so jarring bizarre that they have worked their way
into two – well, now, I suppose, three – poems.
But our new minted president? Only one. What does that
say about me, the girl who balled empty fists to her chest
and wept when they announced his victory. 11pm in NYC,
and I was so sure it wasn’t going to happen I stayed at home.
I couldn’t believe such a good thing could happen to such
a profoundly flawed country. What kind of poet has
such a limited imagination. What kind of poet can accept
the concept of a giraffes trained to rape, but cannot accept
that we might have a leader who flashes his intellect
like an ID – standard, there. A leader who has my dad,
a man who voted for Bush twice, nodding at his laptop,
watching his speeches five, ten, fifteen times, annoying
my mother, a McCain holdout til the end. A leader who
brought back patriotism from bumper stickers and irony,
who makes my heart glitter, makes my spine straighter,
makes me flex my hope muscle, unbreak my faith bone.
This afternoon, everyone is my office stood around a radio
in the conference room just to listen. I stayed at my desk,
feeling like hearing him speech in front of my HR person
and the lecherous accounting guy would make me feel
oddly naked. I join the parade of people who flinch daily
worrying about an assassin’s bullet. I join the party
of awe and gratitude. I join the tender line of poets still
stuttering at the news, still disbelief, still rubbing eyes,
still clinging to doubt and shock like we might need them,
like they are weapons we should still keep in our tool belts.
But this poem is a shedding, is an opening, is a gambit,
is a stripping, is a doorway, is a keyhole, is a push.
This poem is a poem in which I admit today is a new day,
that I am beginning to believe in our blushing hard-won future.
A poem where I say thank you, a poem where I say thank you,
A poem where I say thank you to whoever is responsible.
A poem where I say thank you to whoever will listen.
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz is a New York City-based poet and author. She is the author four books of poetry and has performed throughout the U.S. and Australia. Her fourth book of poetry, Oh Terrible Youth, was published by The Wordsmith Press in June 2007 and her first book of nonfiction, Words In Your Face: A Guided Tour Through Twenty Years of the New York City Poetry Slam, was published in 2008 by Soft Skull Press.
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