Poetry Magazine Jeanne Powell

Jeanne Powell

USA

SEEING MISS ROSA (1997)

Two women boarded the same city bus
one at a time    on different streets    from separate worlds
a generation     and two lifetimes apart

Purposeful and unbent, the brown-eyed traveler
boarded, searched and sat      still more wary that careworn
close enough to the front of the bus to honor Rosa Parks
and vindicate her own life for a moment or two

Confident and rigid, the blue-eyed commuter
entered, perused and stood      still more certain than sentient
close enough to the other's seat to validate the perception
that her need ruled

I see said the brown-eyed visage
so that is how it is with you still
I know said the blue-eyed masque
what has always been mine

Yes said the brown-eyed soul      I see
that you wait and you will wait forever      for we need
the Rules to be the same for both of us and I shall
not be moved by your Need alone

A gentle lady stood up once so that I might sit down today--
you need to sit down and think about the rules which render me
invisible to you       you need to sit down and think
but not here and not now!

KEEPING WATCH

History selects the heroines
we immortalize in story and song
victors promote their profiles
on coins of the realm, each carrying
her weight with stoic grace
leaving us with feelings we can endure

To make it real, though, for it to matter
deep within that we are here, we need to
stand in the rain, candles lit and covered,
by the centuries of unmarked graves
the nameless maidens, mothers, crones
buried alive for the practice of female wiles

The fugitive slave, breast milk leaking,
bare fists striking at the bounty hunters
fell to Earth's sweet scented grass bereft
of sound while  badges of her courage
flowed red     so red      that summer's day
remember her

Fannie Lou Hamer whose body grew thick
from backroom blows delivered under color of
authority why couldn't she stay in her place
she sobbed from the punishing challenge of not
recalling her place they beat her because
she remembered to stand

Named for the angels the quiet teacher who
breathed Marx and Engels the way we take in air
dragged from her innocence in chains
"if they come for her in the morning
they will come for me at night"
if you fail to stand and remember

Hold the memories of their bones and blood
know the way to the underground stations still
keep watch by the rivers and the streams
like the warrior that you are, bear witness
in the rain, candles lit and covered, for we need to
stand and remember.

These poems appear in TANGERINE DANCE, a collection by the author.