Poetry

A Moment of Silence, Before I Start This Poem 

BY EMMANUEL ORTIZ 

Before I start this poem, I'd like to ask you to join me
In a moment of silence
In honor of those who died in the World Trade
Center and the Pentagon last September 11th.
I would also like to ask you
To offer up a moment of silence
For all of those who have been harassed,
imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in
retaliation for those strikes,
For the victims in both Afghanistan and the U.S. 

And if I could just add one more thing...
A full day of silence
for the tens of thousands of Palestinians who
have died at the
hands of U.S.-backed Israeli
forces over decades of occupation.
Six months of silence for the million and-a-half
Iraqi people,
mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a
result of an
11-year U.S.
embargo against the country.

Before I begin this poem,
Two months of silence for the Blacks under
Apartheid in South Africa,
Where homeland security made them aliens in
their own country.
Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima
and Nagasaki,
Where death rained down and peeled back every
layer of
concrete, steel, earth and skin
And the survivors went on as if alive.
A year of silence for the millions of dead in
Vietnam - a people,
not a war - for those who
know a thing or two about the scent of burning
fuel, their

relatives' bones buried in it, their babies born

of it.

A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and

Laos, victims of

a secret war ... ssssshhhhh....

Say nothing ... we don't want them to learn that

they are dead.

Two months of silence for the decades of dead in

Colombia,

Whose names, like the corpses they once

represented, have

piled up and slipped off our tongues.

Before I begin this poem.

An hour of silence for El! Salvador ...

An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...

Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos ...

None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in

their living

years.

45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal,

Chiapas

25 years of silence for the hundred million

Africans who found

their graves far deeper in the ocean than any

building could

poke into the sky.

There will be no DNA testing or dental records

to identify their

remains.

And for those who were strung and swung from the

heights of

sycamore trees in the south, the north, the

east, and the west...

100 years of silence...

For the hundreds of millions of indigenous

peoples from this half

of right here,

Whose land and lives were stolen,

In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge,

Wounded Knee, Sand

Creek,

Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears.

Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry

on the

refrigerator of our consciousness ...

So you want a moment of silence?

And we are all! left speechless

Our tongues snatched from our mouths

Our eyes stapled shut

A moment of silence

And the poets have all been laid to rest

The drums disintegrating into dust.

Before I begin this poem,

You want a moment of silence

You mourn now as if the world will never be the

same

And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be. Not

like it always has

been.

Because this is not a 9/11 poem.

This is a 9/10 poem,

It is a 9/9 poem,

A 9/8 poem,

A 9/7 poem

This is a 1492 poem.

This is a poem about what causes poems like this

to be written.

And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:

This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.

This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in

South Africa,

1977.

This is a September 13th poem for the brothers

at Attica Prison,

New York, 1971.

This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.

This is a poem for every date that falls to the

ground in ashes

This is a poem for the 110 stories that were

never told

The 110 stories that history chose not to write

in textbooks

The 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York

Times, and

Newsweek ignored.

This is a poem for interrupting this program.

And still you want a moment of silence for your

dead?

We could give you lifetimes of empty:

The unmarked graves

The lost languages

The uprooted trees and histories

The dead stares on the faces of nameless

children

Before I start this poem we could be silent

forever

Or just long enough to hunger,

For the dust to bury us

And you would still ask us

For more of our silence.

If you want a moment of silence

Then stop the oil pumps

Turn off the engines and the televisions

Sink the cruise ships

Crash the stock markets

Unplug the marquee lights,

Delete the instant messages,

Derail the trains, the light rail transit.

If you want a moment of silence, put a brick

through the window

of Taco Bell,

And pay the workers for wages lost.

Tear down the liquor stores,

The townhouses, the White Houses, the

jailhouses, the

Penthouses and the Playboys.

If you want a moment of silence,

Then take it

On Super Bowl Sunday,

The Fourth of July

During Dayton's 13 hour sale

Or the next time your white guilt fills the room

where my beautiful

people have gathered.

You want a moment of silence

Then take it NOW,

Before this poem begins.

Here, in the echo of my voice,

In the pause between goosesteps of the second

hand,

In the space between bodies in embrace,

Here is your silence.

Take it.

But take it all...Don't cut in line.

Let your silence begin at the beginning of

crime. But we,

Tonight we will keep right on singing...For our

dead.

 11 September 2002 

Re-posted by Bulatlat.com

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