Song for John TRUdell

10 Dec

I’m quite tired of cancer.

It should wither away into dust like rotary phones,

manual car windows and other passé, née primitive things.

I have no idea why cancer likes poets so much either.

Is it because we carry truth in our mouths

like water gourds in the desert?

Is it because we see humanity in small, discarded places?

I’ve decided that cancer not only sucks, but

should surely attack itself until it has eaten

all the evil it can bear and then die

in a lonely dank corner with no one

to surround it with love or care.


We will not be moved, but will march on

with swords in our pockets and drones in our keypads.

Truth is eternal and so are the poets who bear its testimony.

For Giselle Robinson, Lucille Clifton, Ai, and the human called

John TRUdell



© Asani Charles


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