much has been spoken
on the deeds good
and brutal again
from the hands
and tongues of earthlings human;
and those like i
whose race and gender are overdone and over spoken
(awash in silver spooned existence)
have no right to speak for the black
for they have voices of their own for the pain
and the joy they know
to a depth
i can only listen at.
i would speak for the women in my life
but how male
and white to presume that they
sing their lives for themselves.
i hear the voices of the trod upon, the belittled,
speak with power
i know nothing of.
perhaps i should speak
for voices i cannot tongue
falling earth, the wind on water, on glade, the sun against the living
though what etches the coral
and poisons the soil
screams from the privilege cloaking my person.
speech from my tongue
can only rightly be directed at the privilege there
and spoken to pull the white cloak from the (k)night.
elsewhere i shall be awed to
in reverent silence.
About the Author:
Dan Becker is a Colorado builder, explorer, occasional poet.