Alice Loves Me (Or, They Have a Bad Track Record of Mass Graves)

Yes
I know
They have
A bad habit
Of
Coming
To your door
Before
Dawn;
Before even
Your littlest
Is awake
&
Waiting
For
Your
Morning
Smile;

Your scent
Of tobacco
&
Apples.

I know
Encountering
You
On
A deserted
road
They have
A tendency
To drive
Their subsidized
Jeeps
& Armored
Tanks
Into
Your defenseless
Body;
Loaded
Down
With
Firewood,
Water
In leaking
Plastic
jugs,
Old clothes
From the
Missionary
Dump,
&
Your
Broken
Heart;

Pushing you
To slow
Surrender
Of
All you
Were
&
Are.

They have
A bad
Track
Record
Of
Mass graves.

Looking at
The calm
Appearing
Spanish countryside
Of
Actual
Spain
One Sunday
Driving
To see
Grenada,
Seville,
Cordoba,
The Alhambra
& Traces
Of our
Moorish
Roots
The driver said:
Over there
& There
& There
& There
All mass graves
&
Maybe Lorca*
In
One of them.

This
Terror
Is not
New.

What is new
Is that
On the ether
Now
I can
Tell you:
I know
What is
Happening
To you.

Wherever
It is
Happening
Whoever
Is doing
It.

I want you
To know
That
& So
When you are
Facing
Your
Final
Eternal
Moment
Of
Transformation;
Whether by heat
Or cold
Uzi
Or
Machete
Or “simple”
Or complicated
By death
Rape
Or scorn;
Your tears
Causing
Much amusement;
Your efforts
To hide
Your
Shame
Hilarious
To men
& Boys
Circling
Your pain;

Remember
This –
Say it
& Know
It
Is true:

Alice loves me
Alice loves me

And I am not blamed for this.

She knows-
& is weeping
Even
In her sleep
While they laugh-

She knows
& Keeps
The record
That
This
Unspeakable
Violation

Of all of us
So briefly human

Is happening
To me.

***
©2009 Alice Walker

*Frederico Garcia Lorca, extraordinary Spanish poet and playwright assassinated by Nationalists near his home in Spain in 1936.

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