On May 5, 2014, I published Pen. I explained that I’d attended a workshop on eastern European poetry which included a writing practice. This time we were to reflect on a poem called “Poems To Czechoslovakia” by Marina Tsvetaeva. Again, my life is so fortunate compared to hers. Tsvetaeva’s emotions are not mine. I understood her rage though. I understand her sense of hopelessness. I often feel so about America’s current economic policies which allow so many jobs to go overseas, thus impoverishing so many. I did my best to express some of the worry and pain I feel about the state of poverty in my country. We were to start our poem with a line from Marina’s poem seen here in italics:

The Grip Of Power

As long as there is spit in my mouth I will sing
Notes hover upon a tongue forming the sounds of the free…
Dominance may not silence
Hold court though they may, in the end won’t we all pay?
Nose-less faces we call it.
I could use countless phrases to describe the clever and the meaningless
I could show you horror
choking, choking, choking
I wrench out songs around their fingers
Despite them I know my worth. I am
Free despite them
Just inside me, a universe
It’s out of reach. Always out of reach.
Don’t you see?
No. No you wouldn’t see would you?
And that’s true idiocy.