45 Voices Overheard in an American Graveyard

Selected Poems by: Seth Martin

14.
Look, it's just an old piece
Of paper.
They're not even real Indians anyway.
And what do they think
Their cars run on,
Sage?
  
  

20.
When they talk like that
In their foreign languages
All huddled together
I feel uncomfortable.
  
Can you imagine
What would happen
If we moved to their countries
And spoke together
Only in English?
  
They'd probably
Kill us.
  

  
22.
When asked why
They were celebrating
The decision
To watch children die
Rather than let them live here,
The answers given
By the children of immigrants
Were numerous
And hard to follow.
But most of them
Mentioned the words
God, freedom, and soldiers.
  


24.
Sometimes I wish
My son was Black
Or Indian
Or even a Muslim
Or a woman.
  
Maybe then he could
Go to Harvard
For free,
Or even become president.
  
But he's only
A white boy.
  
And even worse
For him,
He's a Christian.
  


32.
I always liked
Our pastor before
All these violent protests started.
But lately
I get the feeling
More and more
That he might even agree
With them.
  
This is no time
To criticize
Our leader.
I'm looking for a new church
That takes the gospel
Seriously.
  
  

33.
When it finally stopped raining
All the little kids
From the trailer park
Ran outside
And assembled at the playground
To begin their new game.
First they had to choose a president.
Then an immigrant.
Then a terrorist.
Then a lazy Black person
And a scary Indian.
Also they needed
A pastor,
A few witches
And a brave policeman.
After choosing their characters
The leftover children
Without specific roles
Started building
A large wall
In the muddy sandbox.


    
39.
Many of the grandchildren
Of immigrants
And refugees
Now living and doing business
All across this vast
And beautiful land
Share an almost paralyzing fear
Of letting immigrants
Enter this country.
  
They feel strongly
That if they allow
New waves
Of immigrants
And refugees
To live and do business here
The newcomers
Will betray their hospitality
And steal their lands
And slaughter
Or imprison
Their relatives
And rape their daughters
And outlaw their religion
And language
And destroy the mountains
And rivers
And wildlife
That have sustained them
For centuries
And force them at gunpoint
To leave their homelands
And relocate to prison towns
Constructed and carefully monitored
In economically useless regions
And then demand
That they celebrate
The wars and holidays
And God
Of their oppressors
While at the same time
With the blood and sweat
Of millions of slaves
Captured and bought
And brought over by ship
Like so many livestock
Or shipments of coffee
From faraway lands
Build up a new
And mighty empire
On their grandparents' graves.
  
But who could imagine
Such a nightmare
Actually happening?
  
What kind of monsters
Could possess such cruelty
And brazen disdain
For basic human dignity?
  
The people in this land
Who feel this way
Have their reasons.
  
They've studied history.
  
For example, they say,
Look at Nazi Germany.


   
42.
What if they try to come here?
Block them.
What if they already live here?
Find and remove them.
What if they were here before us?
Bulldoze their graveyards.
Why?
Freedom.

---

Seth Martin

(Seth Mountain, 이산) is an anarchistic poet, essayist, and folksinger. He comes from Irish and Italian immigrant settlers and Cherokee people, among others, and is a tribal member of The Cherokee Nation. He grew up as an immigrant settler on Cowlitz land in the (US) Pacific Northwest, and now lives in Korea with his partner, Lee Nan Young.