Speaking To No

what do i say to No? when i know what not to do but i know not what to do. when Winter dies into Spring and i must share my space with Strangers but i don’t know what to say. has there ever been a place where all were welcome and no one was Strange? i think the Cherokee had it right before the Trail of Tears and the Great Usurpation. but for me, choked-up memories of a quiet corner of a high school locker room, a knife at my neck. “i oughta slit your throat, white boy,” he says. and they all laugh -- because i am different. and later, much later of a party and more derisive laughter directed at my accent -- because i am different. and each time i stutter a smile at it all. hoping the tension will diffuse. hoping the voice will not crack. hoping the tears will not flow. for what do i say to No? but kill the lot in my fantasies -- grimacing as i slay and speaking to Rage. but Nietzsche got it right: no one speaks to Power. but Power speaks to No. and eventually Summer and too many Strangers in places i want to be. so i stay sequestered in my basement. so the tension will diffuse. so the voice will not crack. so the tears will not flow. what can i say to No? when i don’t know what to do.