in the land of the white man
desert sun twists our vision
in heat-driven delirium
to see only ourselves
those unlike us have papers in their pockets
ready to prove they have the right to sweep our sacred streets
while they perform jobs no white man wants
they are trained to leave
once the yards are manicured
& the trash is taken to the curb
here we keep women so pure
their bodies are templed
for our children
& their breasts
simply fountains of milk
if we find pleasure in them
we will not speak of it
in the land of the white man
we will carry guns
strapped to our hips
as our God-given privilege
ready to murder
what is rational
& therefore dangerous
Susan Daniels Poetry 
Strong and sad. You touch on a troubled past and a troubling present!
Thanks, Noel. Who knew all that insanity in AZ would finally make me sit down and write something…I hate to think I owe anything to Jan Brewer.
I agree with Noel.
I think I can see why this might have broken the grip of your silence.
Thanks, Jeremy. Please tell me I do not have to send Jan a thank-you note…
Heh heh. Uh, no.
🙂 good.
like this for sure….spoken like a trooper:)
Thanks, Don. My BS meter was going off the charts at the time 🙂
Yes… and some born here get tossed from neighbourhoods for the colour of their skin. To think it happened too near me, leaves me stunned and saddenned, infuriated and hoping we one day find our sensibilities.
It is all horrifying. I hope we do too.
what strikes me most deeply about your poetry, Susan, is that you cut to the center, and you do it with a sort of unconditional love that is somewhat rare. thanks for your writing. I feel happy when I read your pieces, even the ones that evoke pain. ~jane
Thank you so much, Jane. Yes, that love is there, even in the angry ones. I can’t express how much what you say here has effected me. You are a wonderful artist, and such praise from you is, for lack of a better word, humbling.