Also see: Revolutionary Mothering
When three feet of sunshine missing two front teeth
asked me why do we need revolution,
all I had was a grenade in my mouth.
I held him for a while and watched him draw
clouds and trees and ladybugs and a house
filled with everybody he loves.
When was the last time we put to image
what we thought the world should be?
When did it become enough to know
how to promptly explode?
I said to him he was much better equipped
to figure out the revolution than his mama;
that if I don’t, he’s got to disarm this bomb
and throw it out the window.
‘Cause the revolution is not about self-defense;
it’s about self-creation, it’s about seeing farther
than the walls directly in front of us.
And my six-year-old has got a head start.