In 2008 I was a graduate student with almost no understanding of the financial system–I couldn’t even explain the difference between an interest rate and an APR!–working to launch what would become Capital Good Fund: a nonprofit lender. One day […]
We are all mourners now, our clothes
funeral shrouds we tear off our backs
when the time comes (and it will come);
in one pocket we carry brushes for tidying
the graves we stumble on in schools, churches,
nightclubs, concerts, grocery stores, streetcorners…
long before the stamps commemorating peace,
before factories resumed churning out grenades,
some made off with blueprints for conquest,
taped them to the walls of their dreams
If you’re looking for glamor, doing the most good for people and the planet may not be the place to find it.
Tonight I’ll dream that a colony of ants has dragged
me out to sea, where I discover my belongings and I
have become so much flotsam and jetsam.
Changing the language we use when speaking about injustice does not, in and of itself, overturn the injustice.
What is left after the groceries are put away?
Dishes on the drying rack, nothing to clean:
all is as it should be, or so they say.
On a drizzly morning walk I stopped to let a hearse go by,
its pitch-black paint sweating polish, and as I waited
for the procession I thought about who profits from tragedy,
the business of loss, and who profits no matter what,
In Xinjiang, 7,000-miles
away, a morning sun, reflecting off the
glasses of early risers, the windshields
of commuters, is so bright as to redact
last night’s graffiti: Down with Xi.