In the Event of My Detention or Disappearance
A Poem by Stephen Wing
I’m sorry,
your badge has no authority here
or anywhere
after so many billyclubs and canisters of tear gas.
You’ll have to show me a gun.
I’ll always remember this sky
framed by buildings
that were never so alive, ancient stone
freshly gilt with living sun
Mother taught me
always be polite to the man with the gun,
but never forget
my greatgrandfathers were free.
You’ll never convince her I was born for slavery.
I never saw a pair of unbeautiful eyes,
only blindfolded glances,
one-way-mirror stares,
sunglasses like patches of shadow worn
to hide behind
The handcuffs don’t pretend
they represent the will of the people.
You, on the other hand,
can only fake the metallic efficiency of steel.
In the end you speak for no one
but yourself.
In the minutes
or decades that remain,
I’ll never forget
certain faces, precious laughter,
exquisite music,
bluegreen mountains rising through clouds,
that first juicy bite into a peach—
even your hands
perfect as a folded pair of wings
holding the gun
You can build as many
prisons as it takes
to teach your children obedience.
You’ll never strangle
the urge toward happiness
that pumps their blood and mine
and yours.
No matter what you choose
to do to me,
you can’t escape the beating
of your own heart
Stephen Wing is 68 years old and lives in Atlanta, where he has an unsavory reputation as an “activist poet.” He is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Washed in the Hurricane, a poet’s-eye view of climate change. His poems have appeared in Sojourners, Communities, Street Heat, and Nuclear Watch Tower, among others. He serves on the boards of the Lake Claire Community Land Trust and Nuclear Watch South. Visit him at StephenWing.com.
