Solidarity

        Solidarity

 

My head is stuffed with metal and

fuzz and gnarls of curled edges,

like the steel wool I stuff in mouse holes,

trying to prevent entry into my dwelling places.

My heart is a cage with the door open, the bird

singing songs of freedom.  The bird sings in

solidarity

with suffering, the struggle, the oppressive crud

of life.  Everyone hears and knows the song.

 The songs are beauty. The songs open doors.

The song pumps up throat and chest, as melodies

rise and roll, harmonizing with color,

and wind, and all the mice sniffing

 cheese on both sides of metal.  With folks

 gathered round tables, feasting, with

 children flying kites or picking through dumps,

eating with chopsticks, and starving.

The songs are truth, and goodness.  The bird sings

 until feathers and throat and metal blend

with waving rye grasses in fields, cumulus piles

of sky, hot, molten rock, knees scraping-

praying, scrubbing, kissing earth. Bird and

 cage disappear, and the Song sings on.