Minnesotans! There’s still room in my FREE workshop tomorrow, April 6, 1-4 Central time: Rewriting the Story, Reclaiming the Self. This workshop, held via Zoom, is designed for anyone living with the memories, recent or long ago, of abuse: bullying, domestic violence, an emotionally abusive relationship, a sexual or physical assault. Click here for more information and to register. All are welcome, no writing experience necessary. 

Are you concealing a kidnapped child in the back of your car? Have you transported materials to make a bomb or flame thrower or grenade launcher across state lines? How much fentanyl or heroin, if any, are you concealing in your car? Where is your final destination? Do you know what you did wrong and why we pulled you over?

These were some of the many questions I was asked last week while driving from California to Minnesota after a cop and his partner tailed me for a good ten miles before finally pulling me over for an entirely fictitious reason.

Many things went through my head as they kept traipsing back and forth to their police car: how much more scared I would be if I weren’t white. How straightfaced and serious they looked as they told me what I (hadn’t) done wrong. How my dog would not stop barking and I was afraid they would get angry because of it. But mostly? That I’m the one being pulled over while a bunch of craven cowards are fine letting our democracy die. Am I angry, America? You have no idea.

Dear America, by Cati Porter

I am your daughter and
I am angry.

Born in a barn and
raised by wolves,

I have eaten
the porridge

and the plums
and I am not sorry.

You told me that
I can never go home again

but it was you
who sold me a bridge

that was not yours,
then set it on fire. 

Click here for more information about poet Cati Porter. Today’s poem is included in small mammals, published in 2023 by Mayapple Press.  
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