The Bench
They came from nowhere!
Yellow machines with sharp teeth
bit into the roof, the walls, the window sills
the sacred spaces in between.
Urban sharks shredded the work of generations,
spat out the young ones’ dreams
on piles of construction debris
dusting the calming breeze
They came from nowhere!
Metal and chain
covered the trail of lies,
deception their middle name
Their ruthless game
bulldozed away the institutional memory
the people’s sweat.
That’s how folks get erased.
They came from nowhere!
Sneaky and brave
with pompous overtones
they blazed the framers’ fence
their ignorance-fed rage
swallowed the Earth Mother’s children like a hurricane.
And I, the wood bench,
sat still under the oak tree,
tasting the bitter flavor
of gentrification and urban renewal.
I wanted to stand up,
run across the street.
Legs nailed to concrete,
I wept. The draping Spanish Moss
spoke, “Don’t cry, dear bench.
Our Mama’s children are mighty strong.
Shooting roots on this brown soil
I’ve seen it all. The Dreamers will return.”
I watched them demolish two homes,
and I could not say a word.
They came from nowhere!
Mariel Masque
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