Trucks on the road, loaded with beams
Two houses high.
Kids always laugh
When power rolls by.
Parents, they sigh, woken by noise.
They're workers by day:
Victims, accomplices—
Victims, accomplices—
One and the same.
I remember
dreaming my life
was up to me; they said “A-B-C –
which spot would you
like to fill in?”
Back then I was blind, so I got in line.
But now I see …
*
I am love, I am peace, I am heart and will.
And I work with my friends, and we fuel your hill.
You have bought this machine, but we pull its oar.
And we've rowed; now we'll climb to your big front door.
You make the parts, I write the code,
and others take calls.
Stuck in our place,
kept blind to the whole.
Carrying pictures, cats dogs and families,
cut-outs of dreams:
to cool my veins,
and remind me to breathe.
I can feel that
choir of young eyes
begging me to reassure.
But I can't say “It's
okay,” to my
own tired face, into the glass
behind this door …
*
I was born shining-eyed, then you bought my time –
even health, even sleep – are these hands not mine?
And you'll push and you'll drive 'til I taste that floor.
Still I'll come, and I'll stand at your big front door.
You call down the police; now they scare my son.
Then you laze and you thieve, and you call me one.
You draw lines with your words, and you beg for war.
Still we'll come, open armed, to your big front door.
I remember
when “One nation”
was a pledge I knew. We'd shout it, too:
All of us
together, calling
“Indivisible.” Our lungs were full.
We made it true …
*
You can see we're in pain; you shout, “Earn your way.”
So we step on your path; you shout, “Private! Stay!”
Press me back, push me hard, 'til I'm an open sore.
Still I'll come, just to bleed at your big front door.
Simple truths, Fair and Right, you divide Blue-Red.
Equal hearts, you have race- knowledge- sex- Graded.
Then I call to the sky—and you curse my Lord?
So I'll come, and I'll sing through your big front door.
Yes, we'll come, and we'll sing, through your big front door.
In the beginning of the poem, I felt a deep connection and relation, because it felt as though the song described the roller coaster of growing up. In my head, an image of a family, with young kids was conjured, and I saw what it was like to be young again and full of life and possibility. The line “Back then I was blind, so I got in line” portrayed this image of children not understanding their paths or their futures, but instead, do what they are told, because it is all they know. Through the title, I pictured and imagined the gates to heaven, and as the poem progressed there did seem to be some recurring imagery of this theme. Singing at the big front door, bleeding at the big front door, this lines create a portrayal of what we as humans will do to earn our divinity. However, when the soldier imagery is introduced, is the purpose to show different perspectives of getting to heaven? There is a shift when the police are first introduced, what is the purpose of this shift? The image itself helps to complement the poem in a way showing all the different strains of people with heaven hanging over their heads. I really enjoyed this poem, I feel as though the underlying message is very comforting and I like the way in which it is constructed.
ReplyDeleteThis poem conveys to me a story of growing up and losing innocence. In the beginning the speaker recalls when he dreamt about his life, but looks back on his youth commenting that he was blind. Similar to Great Expectations, this poem depicts an older speaker remnicing on his younger, naive self, but in this poem the speaker condemns a person who stole his innocence. As the speaker worked, he finds that his body was bought, and he was used like a cog in a machine, nameless and with no recognition. He reflects and questions if he owns even his hands, because he seems to have come to live for the sake of working for a person. And yet, when he and those alike are in pain, in need of help, the speaker states that the person doesn’t care, and instead calls on the speaker to work to better himself. I interpreted this person as a God figure, or perhaps a metaphor for the the wealthy who are in control of much of the economy. Because the speaker repeatedly claims to confront the person at his “big front door,” this could mean the doors to Heaven, or the doors to the White House, if the person is the President, or it could mean a symbolic door to those taking advantage of the working class. This poem calls on this person to take responsibility for the pain and disillusionment he caused, which reminds me of the stereotypical rebellious phase that society likes to characterize for teenagers, wishing for people to take responsibility for the wrongs acted against the young adults. Though this stereotype is largely overplayed, it does hold truth in the action. This poem is a healthy expression of one’s anger toward their loss of innocence, and makes me think about the way I approach my future; how can I build my life so that I am wholly content in my work and status, but also how will I cope if the life I may have painstakingly built falls apart at the drop of a hat, or at the hand of someone more powerful?
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