Jill Magi
her heat rose as she stepped out in front of herself
as the American Medical Association fatally weakened the drive for socialized medicine by 1949,
she locked the second lock of her door
as the attempt to revive the Fair Employment Practices Commission was defeated,
she went down and crossed the street
as Citi-Bank lobbied for legislation to end Depression-Era banking reforms and won,
she stepped up over the curb
as COINTELPRO dismantled the Black Panther Party, she lined up at the stoplight
as the CIO expelled eleven left-led industrial unions in 1949, she paused at the door that lead to
as the federal government denied Marcus Garvey’s UNIA a postal permit, she slipped into
the revolving door of the
as Dr. King described “a lonely island of poverty” in the same speech as “I have a dream,”
she made her way through the vestibule
as the Highlander Folk School trained Rosa Parks and Septima Clark ran a workshop on “Social Needs and Social Resources,” she put her card in the slot
as the Patriot Act was easily passed, she punched in numbers on the private keypad and
as the First Pan-African Conference on Reparations was held, she waited for what she called hers
and the list of who was shot
the list of who shot
came to her in the air
as the list of drones as the list of successful
as the statistics of hungers as the list of states
of wars not so named
as the air inside air delivered news
as the news could not discern war from peace
an impossible citizen mirrors the former place with the present
until she stops
her backward look ticket
until one day how clear the air
as new heat as old haunts
send history up her spine
twisting as vines she kept place sending
figures away with the others
in the air pressing transfer
over an ocean or more
as they climbed the curb as the pavement sank
as the west pushed up out of the pavement
up out of her head
everyone seeing the snake breaking open
democracy so it was never your
freedom idea such a fragile skull ceramic
cracking with every
them
with a heavy axe
of individuality
and with so many pointer fingers
on a keyboard of elsewhere
making place along with she where
if she said home this meant
they could grant no citizenship
so with their status they struck it and struck it
the screen around the screen
the profile snapshot laminated
paper over paper cover sheet over
sheet and shelf of books behind the shelf
pulled apart by a zipper
a mouth of teeth
a mouth of teach
who learned
the shock of home stratification
the whitewashed layers never
disallowing so much speech put
into troughs
a satisfying feed
for policy secretly to constrict
that life is not divided into separate
air tight compartments this
was said in a speech
by the radical who lost
Felt the world as tiny particles. Not speech. A vast ear. Women rose faintly. Still rose.
She stops and asks for bread out from the oven for two coins. She barely thanks him. Networks melt into the act of placing cool coins into his hand. Light blue cuffs frame the near contact of coin atop coin and two hands passing and receiving bread.
Jill Magi is an artist, critic, and educator who works in text, image, and textile. Her books include LABOR (Nightboat Books), SLOT (Ugly Duckling Presse), Cadastral Map (Shearsman), Torchwood (Shearsman), Threads (Futurepoem), Shroud (an unlimited edition project with Jen Hofer), and numerous chapbooks and handmade books. Jill has taught literature, writing, poetics, visual art and culture at The New School, Goddard College, The City University of New York, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and in 2012-13, she was the Columbia College Chicago MFA Poetry visiting writer. In the fall of 2013 she joined the faculty at New York University Abu Dhabi where she teaches writing through the study of textiles, as well as advanced poetry workshops.