welcome to Vancouver
population: a hierarchy
of inequality
this city I call my own...
from the windows of my rented home
I watch the birds fly off and away
to the nests they've built in the 'burbs
can't help but think it's a little absurd...
you know,
some of my neighbours can't afford to stay
in this
landscape of decay
values in dis-array
this city I walk everyday
this city I call my own...
home.
I'm not sure why we treat you like this...
when I came to your country
you gave me early mornings
and long warm days
boat rides across the lake
colour woven into braids
a warm welcome, a request to stay
[REFUTED]
I tried to speak to you,
managed a song or two
always the gringa...
I guess that's just how this story goes
[UNDISPUTED]
you haven't even finished your story
[MUTED]
and now that you've made it here
I really must ask you to leave.
there's no time to re-imagine
we are tied to the system.
[REFUGE REFUSED...
UNDISPUTED]
for my sister in Afghanistan
(as I step out from this western shore) I shed my veil of cultural judgment (and turn it into a banner
held across the sky I share with you) (oh sister of mine) there can be no day of peace without you.
you were born hungry.
I'm sorry
I didn't know how rare the days were that you ate,
as I grew up picky about what was on my plate
you grew up working.
I'm sorry
I thought grade school math was hard
as you worked the fiedls hands blistered and scarred
you started your family so young.
I'm sorry
because I know you didn't really have enough
while my life is filled and filled and filled with stuff.
you nursed in fear.
i'm sorry
but i just don't relate to that feeling of dread
that you might wake up to find her small fragile body dead...
you reached crisis.
I'm sorry
I think i was probably wasting time that day
used no moment to even think of you, let alone pray
you left your home.
I'm sorry
because as I cling to the comfort of mine, hunger pangs despite
you're wandering through the desert, searching for respite
you were widowed.
I'm sorry
h-u-n-g-e-r the 6 letter kiss of death non-discriminating
the pain comes in w-a-v-e-s and in between there's waiting
because you are alone
i'm sorry
it's just too far, the journey's too much
for our hands to hold, our journeys to touch
and you because a refugee.
I'm sorry.
I know you're calling for relief
and I am sorry.
But I don't mind if you come gather among the sheaves,
I'll take what I want but the rest I'll leave.
I'm sorry but
I see your picture on the news at night,
and I'll give my money, then move on from your plight.
I'm sorry but
I just don't think we hear from where we stand
the depth of the cry from the horn of your land
and I'm sorry
because the loudest call of relief to which I heed
has to do with how relieved I am it's not me in need
label of blurred letters
soft fabric pulled over my head
this dress...
made by tiny fingers
world's of oceans and empires
apart.
we are Babylon
and we don't question
this
thread of exploitation.
keep pulling- maybe it will
unravel...
