September 11, 2001
before
morning-slow
I move
Julan hollers
come come see
the world trade center's
exploding
she's not serious
no one would make that up
would they?
maybe
live on TV
video mantra
replay: plane crash
replay: collapse
slow motion, dying morning
no, not a made-for-TV movie
not a disaster film
not Hollywood special effects
one tower falls
the other follows
do chickens come home to roost?
enormity crashes
dazed disbelief
(chickens won't roost here again
pigeons either)
I, a political prisoner, can
conceive why
but
comprehension is not complicity
I look around me
I know nothing
I know too much
there is no answer in death
nor in dying
I know
soon others will die
dark smoke spreads
cinders of wrath rise
the eagle's talons spread
hungry for revenge
(eyes locked on the shocking scene
a Muslim sister whispers
they will blame the Muslims)
I know
many will feed the eagle
the Palestinians?
(Palestinians are always suspect:
they suffer)
Muslims? Arabs?
many will die red upon the land
I can't comprehend
men who commit suicide
taking civilians with them
(a u.s. postal worker
Columbine high school boys
a man at McDonald's
all-American suicide killers)
civilians
used as
warheads
I shudder and walk away
from death
to my cell
Bich Kim runs in
if there's a world war three
they will shoot all the prisoners, won't they?
I shake my head
I don't think so
but you, political prisoners
like you, won't they?
I hope not
(question marks
the corners of my mouth:
what do I know
about the fine print)
I turn to sweep the floor
find rythms of the ordinary
The Order: 9:00 AM PDT
a tap
I turn
a guard
come with me
I won't return today
I stand before the captain
we must lock you up
for your own safety
(not for my safety)
you're intelligent you know why
I speculate, no
not for my safety
you must be locked
up
just for your safety
I am
stripped naked
ID card confiscated
everything taken
I need my glasses!
keep the glasses
I keep a neutral face
handcuffed behind the back
clad in bile yellow for isolation
and flip-flops
I keep outrage
wrapped within my fists
I swallow anger
metal clangs swallow sound
the concrete cocoon swallows me
The "SHU": Special Housing Unit
"there was an old woman
she lived in a shoe"
what did she do?
9/11 no prisoner may speak to you
you may not speak to any prisoner
9/12 overheard voices
there are terrorists here
who are the terrorists?
silence, everyone behind her door listens
9/14 a legal call
small relief: it's political -- Washington --
not something i did
9/17 no more calls
no visits
no mail
until further notice
incommunicado
i hang from a winding string
winding in this cocoon
i breathe deep
the air isn't good here
(from outside the walls Susan yells
you are not alone)
i breathe deeper
Sunday i get a radio: KPFA lifeline
Sikhs dead, detainees disappeared
political prisoners buried deeper
incommunicado
i remember another September 11: Chile '73
more than 3,000 dead
tortured assassinated disappeared
a CIA-supported coup
(the WTC bombers not-yet-born)
many people there still mourn
let us mourn all the dead
and the soon-to-die
i worry about the prisoners
isolation sucks at the spirit
i am
furious: inferred association
held hostage in place of men
with u.s. weapons and CIA training
an infernal joke
the puppet masters laugh
i laugh to stay sane
before i explode in irony's flames
we are hostages
to blood-thirsty oil men
ready to splatter deserts
with daisy-cutters
their collateral damage
dead mothers and children
dead mother earth
dead daisies
(hasn't this happened before?
u.s. cavalry and smallpox blankets
special forces and blanket bombing)
(Susan is back
she taps on the wall: you are not alone)
i walk around the edges
how many walk on edges?
what edges do the Palestinians walk?
cold radiates whitewashed
walls press against my edges
suspend animation
no butterflies to break out
no silken thread to weave sweet dreams
panic rises in my throat
thick white choking cold
so cold
i swing hope on a thread
a transparent sliver it crashes
against the cinderblocks
i drop
frozen chrysalis
cold into a coffin box
Night
i lay down on suspect blankets
a Cyclops light pins me
onto the metal cot
an altar for vengeful gods
metal restraints for hands and feet
"just in case"
the suicide cell has ghosts
desperate women
lain here chained four-pointed
to command composure
sacrificed to voyeur visions
through the glass starkly
through a burqa window
i don't want to think of i
i meditate
i think of other politicals
behind wires and walls
i
remember the assaulted
the accidental
the collaterally damaged
killed, corrected, coerced
i remember: the u.s. funds the fundamentalists
Muslims Christians Zionists
self-righteous missiles
of mayhem and retribution
i remember Afghani women held hostage
inside indigo cocoons
cells smaller than a confessional box
my veil is this cell
Dispatches from a Political Prisoner
i will put on no other
except the veil of sleep
the light, damn the light
the Cyclops spies
i toss between the tomb-thick walls
how long will this go on?
will my bones break
into ice shards or will they desiccate
stranded in this dark cocoon
at last i doze
till dawn the Cyclops watches
clanging keys, slamming metal
traps
shift change
daylight creeps inside
i rise: i must seek cycles
inside
without clocks or mirrors
without all but i
The Weekend
a glacier, daylight advances
imperceptibly
a plank of light teeters
on the edge of board-faced windows
travels obliquely across
then it's gone
warmth fades fast
the food trap opens
cold eggs the color of our clothes
plunk -- weekend brunch
i swallow in silence
silence flees before sudden cacophony
two women beat plastic bowls on metal doors
we want rec we want rec
the sun is out we want out
my head is wrapped in metallic clanger
bang bang bang
i stay silent
i bite my lip
hours pass: shift change 2:00
the sun drops fast behind the wall
finally: who wants recreation?
I do
me too
let me out first
voices reach through the metal doors
food traps clank
handcuffs click
one by one women are led
to wire cages
joy rings louder than the chains
i wait
no guard comes
i break silence
you didn't ask me
disembodied denial echoes through the walls
you can't go with the others
wait
not my decision
i will miss the sundrops
"Perchance to Dream"
night comes
i fall exhausted into sleep
i dream of Dresden Hanoi Baghdad
whistles scream
walls fall apart
in waves
Dali deserts
watches tick
waterdrip
dream shift:
swords of steel glint against the sky
a swarm and puff
Dispatches from a Political
Prisoner
dark blood drops
bituminous birds bank
spread-eagled free fall
ashes ashes they all fall
down dark flashes
cherry splashes on concrete
Babel towers collapse in crying heaps
a curtain rises gray
covers gladiators draped across the stage
i wake cold-throated
what time is it?
my limbs locked
beneath a concrete rockslide
is this my tomb falling on me?
my chest is piled rock-heavy
bodies rise from the shallows of my breath
graze my eyes and flee
across the desert scape
shadow prints dissipate
am i awake?
the Cyclops stabs my eye
i must be awake
i wrap a scratchy towel
around my face
i escape electrified night
into sightlessness
a ghost voice wails
what time is it?
a deep male boom
1:24, go to
sleep
no, turn on the radio, talk to me
no! no! please no, my eyes blink
inside their blind
little Brueghel men dance
wooden-shoe notes
ruthless on my sleep
sound streams woman's babble
pools beneath the door
i hunker under the winding sheet
does she stop talking
or do i descend?
i don't remember
shift change
shift change
guards come and go
officials pass by peering
into our crypt-cages
taking notes, verifying our "safety"
Monday, September 24
the captain appears
we may release you today after 2:00
2:00 comes and goes
the shift changes
i wait and wonder: will other politicals be released today
i wait
hope is the moment's thief
don't wait
at last: Buck roll out
i leap a jack-in-the-box
ready
ready
the metal key clangs just before the
4:00 count
i gasp relief
and hurry through before the gates slam
shut and i am left below
Eurydice whom Orpheus glimpsed
a moment too soon
i step out
a four o'clock unfolding, fuchsia in the shading light
back into the routine prisoner's plight
Marilyn Buck (December 2001)
ADDED MATERIAL
MARILYN BUCK is a political prisoner serving an 80-year sentence in the Federal Correctional Institution at Dublin, California. She was convicted of helping Assata Shakur to escape from prison in 1979, and a series of other political actions protesting U.S. government policy. While in prison, Buck earned a B.A. with a focus in psychology, and is currently working on a Master's degree in Poetics. Her chapbook, Rescue the Word, was published in 2001. Her poem, "Too Dark," was awarded first place in the PEN prison writing competition. She is also the author of several articles of political analysis. "Incommunicado" and other writing by Buck appear in Joy James (ed.), Imprisoned Intellectuals.
MORE: MARILYN BUCK made her transition from this life on August 3, 2010, after being buried in the tombs of this government for over 33 years and receiving medical treatment too late for it to be effective.
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