“These poems,” June Jordan

These poems
they are things that I do
in the dark
reaching for you
whoever you are
and
are you ready?

These words
they are stones in the water
running away

These skeletal lines
they are desperate arms for my longing and love.

I am a stranger
learning to worship the strangers
around me

whoever you are
whoever I may become.

“Democracy Poem #1,” by June Jordan

Tell them that I stood
in line
and I waited
and I waited
like everybody
else

But I never got
called
And I keep that scrap
of paper
in my pocket

just in case

“Ghaflah,” by June Jordan

In Islam, “Ghaflah” refers to the sin of forgetfulness

Grief scrapes at my skin
she never
“Be a big girl!”
wanted to touch
much
except to disinfect
or bandage

I acknowledge nothing

I forget the mother of my hurt
her innocence of pride
her suicide

That first woman

lowered eyes
folded hands
withered limbs
among the plastic flowers
rhinestone bracelets
eau de toilette
trinkets from slow
compromise

Where did she go?

After swallowing fifteen/twenty/thirty-five pills
she tried to rise
and rising
froze
forever trying to arise
from compromise

And I do not remember finding her
like that
half seated half
almost standing up

just dead
by her own hand
just dead

I do not remember finding her
like that

I forget the burned toast/
spinach
cold eggs
taste-free tuna fish
and thin spread peanut butter
sandwiches
she left for me

I erase
the stew the soup
she cooked and carried
everywhere
to neighbors

I forget three or four other things
I cannot recall
how many pairs of pretty shoes
how many dressup overcoats
I saved my nickels
dimes and quarters
all year long
to buy
at Christmas time
to give to her
my mother
she
the one who would wear nothing
beautiful

Or how I strut
beside her walking anywhere
prepared for any lunatic
assault

upon her shuffling
journey
to a bus stop

I acknowledge nothing

I forget she taught me
how to pray
I forget her prayers
And mine

I do not remember
kneeling down
to ask for wisdom
high-top sneakers
or linoleum chips
to animate
my zip gun

I have never remembered
the blistering fury
the abyss
into which
I capsized
after her last
compromise

I wish I had found her
that first woman
my mother
trying to rise
up

I wish I had given her
my arm

both arms

I have never forgiven her
for going away

But I don’t remember anything

Grief scrapes at my skin
she never
“Be a big girl!”
wanted to touch
much

“INTIFADA INCANTATION: POEM #8 FOR b.b.L.,” June Jordan

I WANTED YOU
I WANTED YOUR KISS ON THE SKIN OF MY SOUL
AND NOW YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I STAND
DESPITE THE TRILLION TREACHERIES OF SAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I HOLD THE LONGING
OF THE WINTER IN MY HAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I COMMIT
TO FRICTION AND THE UNDERTAKING
OF THE PEARL

YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME

AND I HAVE BEGUN
I BEGIN TO BELIEVE MAYBE
MAYBE YOU DO

I AM TASTING MYSELF
IN THE MOUNTAIN OF THE SUN

“I Must Become a Menace to My Enemies,” June Jordan

^{Dedicated to the Poet Agostinho Neto,
President of The People’s Republic of Angola: 1976}

1
I will no longer lightly walk behind
a one of you who fear me:
Be afraid.
I plan to give you reasons for your jumpy fits
and facial tics
I will not walk politely on the pavements anymore
and this is dedicated in particular
to those who hear my footsteps
or the insubstantial rattling of my grocery
cart
then turn around
see me
and hurry on
away from this impressive terror I must be:
I plan to blossom bloody on an afternoon
surrounded by my comrades singing
terrible revenge in merciless
accelerating
rhythms
But
I have watched a blind man studying his face.
I have set the table in the evening and sat down
to eat the news.
Regularly
I have gone to sleep.
There is no one to forgive me.
The dead do not give a damn.
I live like a lover
who drops her dime into the phone
just as the subway shakes into the station
wasting her message
canceling the question of her call:
fulminating or forgetful but late
and always after the fact that could save or
condemn me

I must become the action of my fate.

2
How many of my brothers and my sisters
will they kill
before I teach myself
retaliation?
Shall we pick a number?
South Africa for instance:
do we agree that more than ten thousand
in less than a year but that less than
five thousand slaughtered in more than six
months will
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH ME?

I must become a menace to my enemies.

3
And if I
if I ever let you slide
who should be extirpated from my universe
who should be cauterized from earth
completely
(lawandorder jerkoffs of the first the
terrorist degree)
then let my body fail my soul
in its bedeviled lecheries

And if I
if I ever let love go
because the hatred and the whisperings
become a phantom dictate I o-
bey in lieu of impulse and realities
(the blossoming flamingos of my
wild mimosa trees)
then let love freeze me
out.
I must become
I must become a menace to my enemies.

“i must be a menace to my enemies,” June Jordan

I must become
I must become a menace to my enemies.

“INTIFADA INCANTATION: POEM #8,” June Jordan

FOR b.b.L.

I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
GENOCIDE TO STOP
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED AFFIRMATIVE
ACTION AND REACTION
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED MUSIC
OUT THE WINDOWS
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
NOBODY THIRST AND NOBODY
NOBODY COLD
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED I WANTED
JUSTICE UNDER MY NOSE
I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED
BOUNDARIES TO DISAPPEAR
I WANTED
NOBODY ROLL BACK THE TREES!
I WANTED
NOBODY TAKE AWAY DAYBREAK!
I WANTED NOBODY FREEZE ALL THE PEOPLE ON THEIR
KNEES!I WANTED YOU
I WANTED YOUR KISS ON THE SKIN OF MY SOUL
AND NOW YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I STAND
DESPITE THE TRILLION TREACHERIES OF SAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I HOLD THE LONGING
OF THE WINTER IN MY HAND
YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME AND I COMMIT
TO FRICTION AND THE UNDERTAKING
OF THE PEARLYOU SAY YOU LOVE ME
YOU SAY YOU LOVE MEAND I HAVE BEGUN
I BEGIN TO BELIEVE MAYBE
MAYBE YOU DOI AM TASTING MYSELF
IN THE MOUNTAIN OF THE SUN