The area around Cup Foods in Minneapolis has become a memorial, and I walked there yesterday from my house, past a smiling man holding up a cardboard sign at 36th and Stevens.
Me: “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring any cash.”
Man: “You brought your good looks, though.”
I laughed and so did he, then we talked for a while and I told him where I was going. “It’s wrong, isn’t it,” he said. “Murdered like that.” Yes. It’s wrong. All the wrongness floods over in waves and the only thing that helps is to channel it into action toward a better world. I am not Pasifika, but this poem feels so familiar nonetheless.
Ars Pasifika, by Craig Santos Perez
when the tide
then with the paddle
of your tongue
the letters to form
For more information about Craig Santos Perez, please click here.
Dear Alison, Thank you always for your thoughts, observations and selection of poetry. I have just arrived home after a medical ordeal and Four months—first in ICU for twenty days and rehab since February. The poem today brought happy tears. All best, Mary Alice (Politics and Prose)
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Mary Alice, I had no idea you were going through such an ordeal – my God, I’m so sorry. And I’m so glad you’re home now. Many poems, speedy healing, and much love to you, my wonderful friend.