I am no longer afraid of the boogieman
I am not timorous among shadows
I do not suspend come nightfall
I move / even without transparency of direction
For I insist on having advanced
come light.

I know my demons by name.
Each morning after coffee,
I write them on my “To Do” list – though often, come dusk,
they are not yet crossed off

Every day I am often made to choose
between the lesser of two evils
I do so with conviction
aware that in the interim,
between moments of reluctant choice,
I can commit to the cultivation of good

I know the face of my monsters intimately
– cynicism, apathy, persecution –
And when I fight them, I do so with bare hands,

For the taste of death from a distance
lingers to lightly on the palate
It is not sour enough to induce heaving
To warrant spit
To compel action
We must, each of us, find a reason that bleeds
Only then will we act.

Not merely when effortless or without collision
Not without tongues gashed from our own teeth
which learn to clamp shut in futility
(sing through the bruises)

When broken promises canker sore our mouths,
(speak through the sting)
As conspiracy and corruption scald our throats
(Shout through the burn)
Scream

Until tongue ignites
Until lungs contort like dreams deferred
that choose not to wither
but explode!

Do not distance yourself
from your power
because its results are not immediate
Find your reason
Savor the sour of death
Hold to your pulsing breast
that / your most precious
Watch it dies in your arms
And remind yourself what you live for

We are the product of bloodshed,
Feet callous / shrapneled by history /
from marching across land-mines lines,
Hands raw / lacerated by injustice /
from climbing over barbed-wired barriers,
We are the result of struggle and involvement
We are the reason for resolve and tenacity
We must be steady in all that has come before us
To be ready for all that is coming for us.

So I,
soldier, civilian, dissenter, cynic,
find my reasons – in economy or earth, safety or freedom –
and I fight

Facing my own hypocrisy,
the fear of futility,
the mistakes of my humanity,
I act

Climbing from rusted military wheelchair, with shattered knees,
and sticky nightmares of the rockets red glare,
I stand

Limping proudly through the pain
of tendon torn from ankle by the teeth of dogs,
I march

Waking comfortably each morning
to title and home / mobility and privilege,
I risk

I understand my congruence now
I am not King nor Tubman nor El-Shabazz nor Christ
But I am boycott and passage and insurrection and congregation
I am the movement behind the leaders
The momentum propelling history
The divine portrait of significance,
painted with saliva and voice,
And I will choose to live like I am
all that matters
Because I am
all that matters
And die
like I demand remembrance

Unafraid of the dark.

© 2004 S. Andrews, All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication or use is a violation of applicable laws.

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