What’s in a name? Nothing
but power, control, a mad desire
for dominance—in effect,
a sloppy down-payment
on the future. Wield
a black Sharpie and some
will trust you to change the world—
hoping to feast on the surplus
of your burgers and fries; eager
to lap up the excess cola
that dribbles, like sputum,
from your fleshy,
half-open lips.
But we remember
the promises of unmarred maps,
the honesty of empirics, the sweetness
of mercy, of organized community
and we will work, cleaning
and restoring, remembering
and resisting, till our alliances
grow, our connections
anneal, and all the ocean
is clear and blue and deep
once again.
by Gale Naylor
Poetry by Gale 