Reading time: Approximately 6 minutes
As I read Thea Matthew's work, I'm drawn into the nearly magnetic rhythm of the imagery. The multiple sections of it became our longer work for this issue because much like the words themselves the sections bleed into each other and for me, inform both the violence and the redemption of past, present, and future history.
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Mare Heron Hake
Poetry Editor
Excerpt From Americana
by Thea Matthews
Weeping blood on white a silent letter a loud noun
fracture in the mouth abscess infected gums
bleed of valor of tyranny the deception of purity lies
hung under a thunderous omnipotent sky the
fracture in the mouth abscess infected gums
this country since 1776 a pitchfork rakes red skin
makes black blister America a new constellation in the heavens
bleed of valor of tyranny the deception of purity lies
a brigade of brutality an eye closed shoots the sanctity
of barbarity and life cannot coexist lips unstitched
hung under a thunderous omnipotent sky the
savagery sanctioned by state here the evolution of
savages in tricorn hats rifles stuffed with cotton
****
Together we stare at a barren tree by land seemingly
untouched the thing about molestation is that often
one cannot see the internal bruising
the skin smooth a calm river calms us remains
untouched the thing about molestation is that often
death is like death a barren tree is like a barren tree
a summer’s twilight precipitates veins of coral billows
one cannot see the internal bruising
rape is like rape an eagle soars across the sky its wings
flap above a slanted pole a sign to be brave to feel
the skin smooth a calm river calms us remains
the beloved of stars stripes with flames
blazing from gut to mouth God be with us as we rise
****
Another one gunned down victory for white the flag
raised on a pole blue eyes crowned stars tumble-
weed into thick clumps of blood-soaked hair billboard
showgirls try to hide genocide with concealer a black boy
raised on a pole blue eyes crowned stars tumble-
weed into blonde bomb shells a fedora led a lynching
yesterday today a cop guilty for murder lies in the
weed into thick clumps of blood-soaked hair billboard
each tier a lost language a ruptured artery the space
between being hunted and celebrated comely
showgirls try to hide genocide with concealer a black boy
rarely seen red stripes mark danger a combover ruled
ruined I see him again homegrown hate prevails
****
They came for promise claimed this land Sanctuary
they came for the dreams within dreams within dreams
called this land of the free and the home of the brave
do not trust the pilgrim stiff cloth a burning cross
they came for the dreams within dreams within dreams
Jamestown to Plymouth blood to fragment souls to
splinter split a people under the gleam of triumph
called this land of the free and the home of the brave
all I see is torture a legacy a splintered cabinet
of porcelain a spark of a dull match the wick flared
do not trust the pilgrim stiff cloth a burning cross
skin boiling beneath uniforms fear fatal this greed kills
but you already know this take the scissors
****
Slash each star stare into each incision state
district settlement revoked beneath the rocks
amazing grace how sweet the sound thought I had to die
to live I once was lost but now I’m found deep within a
district settlement revoked beneath the rocks
the damned have been boxed liberty is liberty not
a euphemism for enslavement of the body now
amazing grace how sweet the sound thought I had to die
a slow suicide in a country of commercialized politicians
clamoring for attention a torrent of abuse I live
to live I once was lost but now I’m found deep within a
trench opening of an eye what does it mean
an abolished state a nation reconfigured I cut straight
****
I am a river running through each heft of fabric
I am an echoing dream tormenting white in still
waters a shallow night the air thickened by revolt
I am on the edge watching waiting time to strike
I am an echoing dream tormenting white in still
waters between lips of Lady Liberty the last breath
rub silence in between fingers until threads break
waters a shallow night the air thickened by revolt
punched walls throwaway fractures glare I lean
against the door nonchalant post murder to stars
I am on the edge watching waiting time to strike
fear burns my gut threatens my voice yet my feet
move to the chant of my people today tomorrow
***
reprinted with the permission of the poet
Thea Matthews has this to say about her work:
Americana emerged as a series of poems bearing the same title. As an anti-long poem and manuscript in-progress, these incendiary poems interrogate U.S. history, as well as the questions: what does it truly mean to be of this country, to be an American. What is Justice? What is Liberty? In writing these poems, I cross-examine the evidence of U.S. past and present times; and implore erasure as well as ekphrastism to strip traditional American folk and colonial art bare until one only sees the complex truth of our value system.
Born and raised in San Francisco, CA, poet Thea Matthews (she/her) is an author, educator; and currently an MFA Poetry candidate at New York University. theamatthews.com; Instagram: @theamatthews_.
Photo credit: Coskun Caglayan