Where I'm from

Have you ever had a scent seize you

as it laughs at time, at space

and throws you down a maze of memories?

To a place far, far away

one whose name has been effaced.

For me, that scent has always been

fresh fallen rain

mixing with that precious dirt.

*******

I was born in a beautiful cradle

of ancestry, culture

a bedrock, a treasure house

of humane wealth.

But the clash of beliefs

the bitter taste of dispute

and a history of foreign exploitation

has made men of cloth

into ragdog generals

who enforce Orwell's 1984.

Where I'm from

it's custom to hear of a cousin

an uncle, disappearing

for having a tongue

and for daring to use it.

My father came from a family of seven brothers:

wrestlers and revolutionaries

who lost one of their own in battle.

I get my strength from my mother, her sister and my grandmother
who raised a university professor and a teacher 
but had to secretly sneak her two daughters to school everyday. 

I am a child of the revolution

born during war

laughing in the playground

of my mother's kindergarten

laughing

as I pointed up at the sky

while air raid sirens went off

and jet fighters flew by.

Trying to be heard

I've stalked over stifling walls

felt them close over me    

as I was discovered

like a common thief.

[For holding hands

I've ran from men in berets

their boots pounding on pavement

as I swallowed my own heart.]  **Needs revision

Imagine:

having two scheduled times

to use the washroom each day

in an isolation cell for thirteen months

at sixty-five years old

your family, unable to speak

even in their own home

house raids and wire taps.

There are welcoming ceremonies

for freed political prisoners

more joyous than weddings

more melancholy than a funeral.

For the rest

there is absolute

silence.

*******

..I think I write poems

but there is endless poetry

that beats in the hearts

of those in dark, quiet cells

which will sometimes never be heard.

.