by Nikkita Oliver
Seattle,
the Emerald City
The emerald is a stone of love
It soothes and heals the heart
Home is where the heart is
In this city I live somewhere
Between
home and heartbreak
hope and pushout
the haves and have nots
Between
the clouds and weed smoke
Dispensaries replace the brothas on the block
As cranes scrape the sky of her glory
And it all rains down in our faces
The wet will not quench our thirst
Our mouths go dry asking
What story will they tell
When we are all gone
What totem poles will they erect in our places
What streets will they name after our heroes
What colors will they paint the crosswalks
When the city has faded pale
How much will they charge us to visit
Museums telling our stories in voices
We do not recognize
This place anymore
No one wants to leave their home
But especially not without
the promise of return
So we stay
In the shadows of buildings
They won’t let us in
But they won’t let us go
With the things that we built
Without us
This city is just a place
And not a home
Home of the braves
City named after a Duwamish Suquamish Chief
City built on stolen land
My home an occupied territory
This city a monument to destruction
A homage to genocide
Our home hallowed bones of ancestors
I’ve never met but I feel shaking
An underground city no longer on fire
But still burning with injustice
And Big Bertha
She will not work today
Will not gnaw at the bit
Will not penetrate sacred land
This drill will not leave us
A viaduct to freedom
She will not make meal of our medicines
And pretend it does not hurt
To sale off our bodies
On the auction block of industry
In the name of progress
How do you build a free way to liberation
On the backs of people
Too occupied with survival
When we can barely pay rent?
How do you reclaim a place
That was never yours to begin with
How do you wrap your ill-fitting mouth
Around a name you cannot say
Without changing it?
How do you tell a story
So honest, so authentic
The truth is undeniable
And the lie has no place left to hide
And you, even you, are
Transformed for the better?
How do I tell a story
In this city where I live somewhere
Between
victim and villain
occupied and colonizer
pushed out and gentrifier?
This city was once a rainforest
Growing greener everyday
Now we blow trees just to forget
The feeling of being unwanted
Of being uprooted and rarely replanted
So we never grow
as green should as we could
Emerald
first translated from Sanskrit
“Marakata”
meaning “the green of growing things”
And this city is growing greener
Everyday in the wrong way
And I can only think of one way
To change it for the better
To tell our stories
To let them fall
A waterfall of tears
On a people too dry to see their own ash
To tell our stories
To never give up or give in
To the silence threatening
To quiet our existence
To tell our stories
We will not make one dimensional relics
Of three dimensional beings
We cannot afford to lose ourselves
Our stories make us what we are
The world is not made of atoms
It is made of stories
A city is not made of buildings
It is made of people
People are made of stories
We build ourselves out of
Disappearing
Is a story we will not be
Home
Is where the heart is
And my heart is here
In the Emerald city
Somewhere between
Home and heartbreak
Is a gem–an emerald
Meant for so much more
Than some oligarchs crown
The Emerald is a stone of love
It soothes and heals the heart
What the mind forgets
The heart will not
And this city is forgetting
It will only grow as big as our hearts
And our hearts will only grow
as big as our stories
So let’s tell the best story we can tell
Our home,
Our hearts depend on it
Featured Image Alex Garland
Outstanding! Love Emerald’s commitment to poetry and the arts.
Outstanding! Love the Emerald’s commitment to poetry and the arts.
Important piece to mark the anniversary of the wonderful Emerald, but to also commemorate the state of things. Claiming progressive needing to be radical I wonder if “Seattle” really cares. Sure there are some that do, but everyday people who yearn for opportunity feel more and more vulnerable as market forces drive them away. What to do “Seattle”?…. what to do?