The Mutes Begin to Breathe Fire

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I.

Once we were warm in our beds. We were
covered with an epic quilt—maybe it was
made of words, maybe actual squares
of ourselves, portioned then collected

like so many berries from one tree.
It's like that parachute game we played as
kids: everyone with a fistful, and the fabric
heaved upwards, and the ring we danced,

and the effort was light because there were
so many of us. Over our heads, a sun
we'd all made…until one or two betrayed us,
darted out from under, pulled it down

and trapped us under our own foolish colors,
yelling Poisonous! The mushroom's poisonous!

II.

I see     a movie about a dead girl.
I see     a movie about men, and there are dead girls.
I see     a billboard with a bed girl.
I see     a bed with a girl in it.
I see     a girl with a bed in it, I mean, her.
I see     a girl with a baby in her.
I see     a mother eat a little girl.
I see     a girl who won't eat.
I see     a man rape a girl.
I see     a hung jury.
I see     a girl who hanged herself.
I see     a girl who loves another girl.
I see     a man get off on that.
I see     a man pretend to get off on that.
I see     the first man beat the second man.
I see     a dead man.
I see     a movie that won't be made.
I see     a book that won't be read.
I see     they're handing out ropes with the Constitution now.
I see     a crystal ball turn smoky as a sky.

I hear    Sarah Palin is running for vice president.

III.

The sound of feminism in 2008
            is a woman's scream during an illegal
            abortion in the same back alley where she was
            raped a few months before, choked
            with her handbag strap, condoms strewn
            about the concrete like confetti.

The sound of feminism in 2008
            is a right-wing rally cry for family
            values, you know, like the celebrities have,
            every OK! Magazine cover blossoming
            like a uterus with pre-packaged
            Hi My Name is Woman labels.

The sound of feminism in 2008
            is a hammer coming down on
            the heads of women protesting
            media coverage of the Clinton campaign
            by the carpenters of Palin, who must
            be rescued after a mere five days of footage.

The sound of feminism in 2008
            is this chivalry, this old white straight male hand
            reaching down to pull up one allowable woman
            to sell to the rest of us as progress
            while our children die, our jobs set sail,
            and our books burn to make room for bibles.

IV.

Here is a book that won't burn: millions
of grassroots blogs, all with the same flag:
do they really think we're that fucking stupid?

Even if McCain could use the internet…
Even if Fox would broadcast these numbers…
Even if we all called out at once…

We are just discovering our eyes, but when
will ears be prerequisites,
when will voices be untaxable?