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.
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