“In
this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes."
-Benjamin Franklin 1789
Where is the
dead Benjamin Franklin?
I’d like to
tell him a few things about
life. Tidy one-liners may feel noble in
the mouth
but they’re dust in stomachs.
Don’t fuck
with me, with that dream:
the sprawling
house, my money-husband
tucking 3.1
children into crisp textiles,
the sit-down
salmon dinners with fresh
dill—my box without fear. I've noticed
that in the Land
of the Free, freedom
holds its twitchy
hands with fear. Here
black men dangled
from telephone poles
while postcards
of the lynchings circulated
like Valentines. Let the liberty bell ring
in unison
with cries of women unable to
charge their
husbands with rape, because
historically
a man is allowed to claim his
property. No, don’t tell me there are only
two
certainties when 179 people have
been shot in
Chicago since the beginning
of the year. It is February. It is only
February,
and I must point out that even
cookie-cutter
homes have fences. Fear can
be merry and
whitewashed in American
dreaming. But it is still present. 400
people in the
world have calcified
amygdalae,
making them biologically
fearless. For the rest of us, there’s fear.
