I have had a lot of pent up anger. Say “Amen” if “you too”–but finally I was able to let it out with a poem, this poem. However, I have yet to be able to revise it. Revision may not be able to make it better, or maybe revision will discover the truth, the real truth I haven’t yet been able to articulate. Maybe I will be able to “show and not tell” but sometimes is that really necessary?
What’s it like to live in a country that hates you?
It feels like anger, it feels like fear
It feels like a joke, it has to be a joke.
It feels surreal. Not fantasy, nightmare.
Name the aggressions, the aggressors.
Aggression a weak word. Name the
Killers of love, of hope, of faith. The
Oligarchs. The kings, the bad guys
(and women) (most of them)
arent the color black.
The movies had it all wrong. Black or
White, black and white. There is a
Rainbow and the pot of gold at the
End does not belong to MAGA fans.
The wind blows in a different direction.
Democrats and progressives, liberals
Of all fighting minds know America
Has never been great, and never will
Be for the working class, the poor. I say
Make America Great, period. I say find
A slogan that is doable. I say feed the
Children , educate the children, I say
Yes to the browning of America, to
All the colors all the genders. I say We
Are tired but not weak. I say protest
My friends and we don’t have to love
Our MAGA neighbors we have to be
Aware of them, of their hate, of
Their destructive actions. It’s not
Just the billionaires, it’s those
Who don’t like Black, Indigenous,
Asian, Chicano/Chicana who
Think their whiteness gives them
Permission to bully, to kill, to
Disappear us, despite their own
Poverty their own misery. I say
Have my back, not my blood. I
Say I will not forgive you Trump
And your family and your cronies
Not today, not tomorrow. I say
Lock them up and keep them there,
I say disappear the bad bad people.
I say I’m happy I can finally write
A poem about what I’ve been
Feeling these first 100 days plus
And I can breathe again, at least
For the few minutes it is taking
To write this poem. I say, yes,
I am afraid, but I say fear keeps
Me awake, keeps me aware, keeps
Me thinking, yes, open Alcatraz
And deport all the fascists to reside there,
Maybe even build them a golf course.
Sherry Quan Lee
Sunday, May 11, 2025
