Write a poem with the title, "Statues in the Park."
I immediately thought of these figures near our DC home:
Yes, that's Lincoln. Lincoln in Lincoln Park. We went there often to people-watch, and were amused by the picnicking hipsters, and the frolicking dogs, and the cake-eating toddlers and their parents. Good times. But those days were not what I chose to write about. For me, statues are never just statues...and nothing is ever as fixed or as settled as we hope it is.
Statues in the Park
He is Lincoln. Lincoln in Lincoln Park!
While the slave cowering at his knees is twisted
with gratitude, underfoot as a beaten dog
as his chains are cut by proclamation
and people say—as they should—
that to show no struggle from within
but only liberation from without
is a lie—but I don’t know how to make a statue tell
the truth—every history has moments
we tag, and point to, and judge—
before we release them to whirl
in Lincoln Park which today, is a rallying point
for the KKK; no hoods, but raised signs
and a line of police horses so high you can look
into their pulsating noses and feel the earth shake;
they make a dam for the permitted
to flow safely into the street, numb
to the world; I cannot remember
a single face, only the snorting
as they walked out of Lincoln’s Park
leaving it to children who dodged
being caught, one by one, until
arms outstretched, their mosquito-bitten
legs gleaming, they stood frozen—
no one free
until all are free.
---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)
Each of my poetry sisters has written a poem to this title, too. Go see:
Tricia
Laura
Kelly
Liz
Tanita
Poetry Friday is hosted today by MainelyWrite.