tending to the past
There is a video I watched recently of Rumeysa Ozturk being detained by secret police in plainclothes. I could feel her fright. I could feel her confusion.
There is a poem I read the day before by Lucille Clifton. It gave me comfort for the ways in which I do not look away, cannot look away when my body is called the “war zone.” It is not. My body is a lighthouse.
There are some who come into this world whose assignment it is to tend to the past. Tending to the past is not stoking the past with fire or atom bombs. Tending to the past is collective care. Tending to the past is uncomfortable but we must make sure this patient does not become gangrene from neglect. History needs our attention, our tenderness, our commitment to create the conditions to metabolize what sits in our global belly. Lead heavy. The wounds do not go away with time. They rot.
There is a video I watched recently of a cycle breaker being detained by secret police in plainclothes. Her ancestors had been whispering to her—tell it.
There is a video I watched recently of a lighthouse being detained by secret police in plainclothes. I could feel her fright. I could feel her confusion.
There is a poem that has already been poemed about the ways we all inherit spaces that need tending. There is a poem that has already been poemed about the ways we all inherit bodies that need tending.
i am accused of tending to the past
i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will.-Lucille Clifton
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