Mars, why have you brought this?
Mars, why have you brought this?
What does it feel like to not be at war?
My last memory of relative peace is Hoffmaster State Park
On a picture book day with cotton candy clouds
We conducted a scientific exploration of sand dunes:
Fly down steep hills and land barefoot into soft earth
Climb back up to sprint down again and again and again.
In the backdrop of conflict, I:
Fumbled until I could open a combination lock
Circulated my first petition
Signed and sealed vows to protect my purity
Bled alone in a locker room
Wore a perfect, sky-blue prom dress that shimmered like the Big Lake in June
Absorbed another’s unspeakable pain and buried it in the core of the earth
Clung to what remained of my virtue through institutional betrayal and shame
Fought with my father as I left home for college
Paid out my sanity to bosses, to landlords, to professors, to vendors
Married the first boy who asked me questions
Fit life in a truck, dyed my hair, changed my name
Adopted my soul mate, God in reverse
Cowered for two years in a small stucco block
Playacted homemaker as bone-grinding breadwinner
Resisted, somehow, the siren song of balcony ledge
Broke away from the man who stopped asking me questions
Took root in new place, through thick concrete of grief
Felt the wonder of my own creation, in aching temporality
Found home, heart, belonging (Hey!)
Opened my Self to authentic, loving community
Took my first full, unencumbered breath.
How can I be undaunted by the enormity of the world’s grief?
When I finally see my own soul as it truly is –
A Universe, self-contained but cracked ajar
To sizzle with divine spark at connection with Other
Yet, outside, destruction.
Peaceful Summit Moved Online (For Threats?)
Better? All right, we’ll start again.
Open your eyes, demilitarize
(A ceasefire will not bring peace)
What is an effective and necessary means of defense, really?
This violence is not abstract
It is committed by people we love
Safety does not come from children screaming under the rubble
(We must immediately demand a ceasefire)
“A week ago, we finished a second story addition to the house. I miss my cats. My book collection burned.”
End genocide
End occupation
“I don’t want to hurt your heart more than it aches but I have no hope.”
Interfere in the mechanism
Call for life
When apartheid ends, so too does the need for violent resistance
We have more than one chamber in our hearts
For the painful disagreements that cannot be overcome
To find the north star that glitters in the space between freedom and violence
We can expand and welcome our selves and our others into the presently unimaginable
A place where truth can emanate
We will not forget each other here.
We will remember where our love was born.
The Poet with the Birds, Marc Chagall
De/conversion, October 7
I fear for One who covers her hair. I fear for One who gets taken advantage of by mechanics. I fear for One who went further out of her way to save a pair of hermit crabs than most people would go for most people. I fear for One who was moved to poetry by his friend’s infant grandson. I fear for One, even though I know I shouldn’t - if anyone will be ok, I have a feeling it’s her. I fear for One - that the natural posture of his smile could fade to vanishing before any of us notices. I fear for One, whose tenderness for his child almost made me want a second date. I fear for One, and whether she and her friends are ready to grapple with the realities of their politics (which I hold, too). I fear for One, whose unconditional love for his daughters shows up for the rest of us as refreshing, authentic feminism. I fear for One, a rare person well-known for having an all-around kind and genuine nature. I fear for One, who didn’t think twice about offering one of the most generous gestures I’ve ever received.
I don’t fear for me. I dread. Dread for the day my humanity cracks and my cowardice surfaces, for the day I tell anyone who asks that I love Big Brother and I’m sorry, I was in a haze of grief and disappointment and shame, I’m not a Christ-killer, I’ll sing along at midnight Mass, I’ll get down on my knees and present my tongue to the priest, I’ll swirl lamb’s blood across my molars, I’ll nail the nailed man to my doorway and lie prostrate to his flagellation and tortuous crown. Please let me stay. I promise I’ll be quiet.
Bless me, Father, for I am Jewish.
About the poet: Emily Zacek is a poet, children's writer, and copywriter based in Philadelphia. She aims to marry the joy of creative work with making a real, positive difference in the world. Zacek earned a BA with honors in organizational studies and a BMA in flute performance from the University of Michigan in 2014, and her undergraduate thesis focused on labor activity in American arts nonprofits. She spent ten years in a variety of fundraising and development roles with nonprofits in Michigan and Colorado before switching to marketing and content creation for individuals, nonprofits, and ethically aligned for-profit companies.
Zacek seeks to create pieces that serve as a mirror for herself and her readers, both to show them their own light from a new angle, and to encourage introspection for anything that could use a bit more love, care, and tending.
Zacek seeks to create pieces that serve as a mirror for herself and her readers, both to show them their own light from a new angle, and to encourage introspection for anything that could use a bit more love, care, and tending.
