By LJ Hardy
Your jaw
set fierce
in the shape of battle
clenched
against the storm
you face
by the weapons
of a life
I long for
when I’m lost here.
My feet grounded
precariously
in the roots of intention
integrities
inconsistencies
in the record of my birth.
Your name
unfamiliar to my lips
like the taste of sweet Lanzones
grown from an earth
where my history
has drawn the blood of yours.
Your eyes
traveling the grounds of sinew
landscapes of war.
My love
knows what I want
from you
to fill anemic spaces
market forces
American skin.
To draw
surplus from your bones
for stories
poems.
To build factories
fill emptiness
with crunch
Balut
baby ducks
in eggs
slivers of fish
for breakfast
dried.
Chants from jeepneys
passing cities
apples cost more than mangoes
you say
pointing out
an example I will draw on a thousand whiteboards
guiding students
smash imperialism
Imperyalismo Ibaksak!
Pristinely perfect rice
hungry bile
from long days and nights of protest
in sun
on floors
a bucket of glue.
Surplus capital
Me plus you.
LJ Hardy is an anthropologist engulfed in the world of academia where she researches and writes about health equity and social justice. After a life-threatening illness and the politics of 2017, she has gained the clarity to realize that it is time to write from the heart. She lives in the Arizona mountains with her daughter, 3 dogs, 14 chickens, and two ducks.
Photo credit: molybdena via a Creative Commons license.
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