Kin: Poems

Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a Time (in Paducah, Springfield, and Pearl) There was a place called Ameriland, where the Big Boy on Sunday was holy; and giant corn stalks met fields, sprouted, prevailed and reached for Jesus; where rolling clouds were clown-face-white and apples murderous red; where groups of women gathered round with flour and sugar and cinnamon clucking over children as necessary as the pies they baked. And doe-faced children knew only joy in Ameriland, never heard the wail of Marvin, knew only that the cha-cha of salsa meant a glass jar at the Piggly Wiggly, slanted eyesdelivery &om the one and only Emerald Garden. In Ameriland, color was so abundant and so scarce. Plus, it was only talked about in fierce warning whispers. It was a big place made up of small towns with names like Paducah, Springfield, and Pearl where Mothers and Fathers swathed their children in so& mounds of cotton when the sun dwindled. Then, when the children's eyes 58 were big and not ready for sleep, Mother and Father would tell stories about Chicanos who inhale tamales, own bodegas, and transform pickup trucks into filthy gyrating machines. About Chicanos named Maria, Xavier, and Jose, who wield salsa-dipped knives in jail-house brawls. Sometimes they'd tell stories about Asians who have two toes and belong to Tongs; who shanghai jobs and prosperity; who are a jungle people, evil and formidable because of their cunning which is cloaked in delicate beauty-the most dangerous deception of all. Or Mother and Father would whisper of Negroes who wear rollers and slippers to the Kentucky Fried and thieve language, creating a labyrinth that is particularly seductive to little Ameriland children who, if they don't eat their carrots and peas, just might be banished to a world of heathenistic clothes and obscene music. And children in Paducah, Springfield and Pearl closed their eyes somewhere between the middle and end of those tales, snuggled their teddies, echoes of Mother and Father roaming their minds. Then one day, an Ameriland boy woke to a cold sun and plummeted into a deep abyss. When he fell his piece of Ameriland capsized with a thunderous Thump. 59 And then two more little Ameriland boys who had perhaps heard/seen more than their small eyes could digest and who had learned the virtues of fire and powder and trajectory from Grandfather Ameriland decided they would no longer cry silently and rallied an explosive explanation. There was another Thump. Then, when all the mothers and fathers cross-eyed with suspicion had taken chaotic notice another of their own pillaged the remaining fragments until Ameriland exploded with rage and grief red as his hair. And there was another Thump. Meanwhile, the little children, some of which weren't so little, howled (upon realizing there were no more clown-faced clouds); and screeched (at the bitterness of apples and sugar and cinnamon). Beseeched:This should not happen Here: (we are not salsa Chicanos). This should not happen Here: (we are not sianty-eyed Asians). This should not happen Here: (we are not Kentucky-Fried Negroes). It was tragic. And we watched Ameriland explode bit by bit, 60 looked to the bloody, dusk-filled sky, found the same decade-old sinister clouds grinning down on our woe, heard the soft foreshadowing wail of Marvin, felt the miasma of our overcast hovels extending and someone, somewhere called for Jesus. 61 ...