If I could write a poem,
I would tell of possibility
That touches the deepest chord of our collective being.
I would tell of creativity and intimacy;
And revolutionary audacity.
Jan shared Zagajewski’s Old Marx.
He looks back
On a vision for a new world.
And can’t quite take in where he is.
Last night I went to a memorial for John Farris,
A hell raising Black man on New York’s lower east side.
A poet and an artist.
Maladjusted if anyone ever was.
People spoke of how he touched them, challenged and inspired them.
And sometimes punched them in the face.
And that’s no metaphor.
I would tell of a community that is slipping away
In a City that allows the money makers
To set the tone,
To dominate the space.
Is there still space for poetry
Yes, if we create it.