my movement led to a clandestine world where Marilyn spoken mustn't evoke even a startled eye... I collected other names sometimes more than one at once... like scarves draped over shoulders decorative concealing on capture an FBI man uttered Marilyn a question a victory shout named I had no option but Marilyn scarves stripped by howling winds of retribution |
"I went off to college, escaped my father's
thunderstorms Berkeley. Rebellion. Exhilaration! the Vietnam war, Black Power, Che took me to Chicago... on to California, driving at 3:00 in the morning in the mountains I got it: what self-determination means a daunting task for a young white woman, I was humbled practice is concrete... harder than crystal-dream concepts San Francisco, on the front steps at Fulton Street smoking reefer, drinking "bitterdog" with Black Panthers and white hippie radicals, talking about when the revolution comes the revolution did not come... but later there was Assata's freedom smile then I was captured, locked into a cell of sewer water spirit deflated. I survived, carried on, glad to be like a weed, a wild red poppy rooted in life" |
"my mother died at 74 I believed she would no, should live till 80 she was supposed to live till 80 so I could live till 80 so I would make it out of prison alive... my mother's anger swam in blue-water eyes a grief she did not want to bear her daughter imprisoned an enemy of the state she could not save me from vengeful-suited men nor from myself..." |
2015-11-08 Sun 16:54:10 ct