I was reading my friends page on Facebook today and someone amazing called today “interdependence day.” I really liked not only the mash-up of independence, but also the cavalier notion that we are in fact as independent as we are interdependent on each other. As activists say, we are not free until all we are free. It’s true. So while platitudes of gratefulness are repeated across social networking sites and bbq grill feasting tables, I am reminded of the differences in how we experience freedom and how it shows in the differences in the people around me.
I thought about that, about how my liberations are separate and yet equal, how I am not free until all of me is free. So I share with you a poem I wrote a few years ago, inspired in part by Audre Lorde – a warrior poet who too wanted all of her to be free.
But I who am bound by my mirror as well as my bed see causes in color as well as sex and sit here wondering which me will survive all these liberations. - Audre Lorde, from "Who Said It Was Simple" A flame burning on pyre or alter somewhat shifty - an unwelcome breeze lit by another hand, another body reclaimed in a few brief moments now a testament to what it means to survive or the very art of survival punching in and then out the echo elevating itself above obliteration or reincarnation another matchbook, a wick not trimmed another isolated liberation
Dis/positional 