Today's poem is by Ana Portnoy Brimmer

Island ghazal
       

On an island, what makes a prophet?
On an island, who makes a profit?

Tousled mangroves, nimble fingers, net flingers,
land crabs, pry the meat, share the sweet—prophet.

Coastline, sea brine, barbed acre, hand shakers,
conshuction permit, just drill and burn it—profit.

Rescued school, farmed green, fixed cracks, cooking for forty,
art in hallways, for some a bed, families fed—prophet.

Shuttered school, vine-choked fence, wild grass, hot cement,
broken glass, tied up horse, neighs once, no response—profit.

Intercrop, bean pods, ají duke, lettuce ponds, eggplant,
worm and ant, smell of earth, soil in birth—prophet.

Monocrop, endless rows, GMOs, climate resistant, capital's insistence,
starbucks, big bucks, on a boat, down your throat—profit.

En capucha, green bandana, purple shirt, rainbow flag, seattle in your bag,
free hair, fist in air, for Puerto Rico you'll dare, anything—prophet.

Baton and bullet, riot shield, tear gas, never yield, blocked street,
wall street, cushioned banks, corporate class, watch the glass—profit.

Barter and trade, self-made currency; solidary economy; barbershops,
pharmacies, restaurants, bakeries, artisans, musicians, poets—prophet.

Cruise ships, crypto dicks, paradise, won't suffice, build a city;
atop the city; of desert reefs and homes—profit.

Cancel the debt, that's not our debt, won't pay the debt, illegal debt,
colonial debt, fuck the debt, no longer afraid of your threat—prophet.

Won't cancel the debt, this is your debt, no receipts, pay the debt, this legal
debt, forever mine debtors, forever yours debt, fear my threat—profit.

They say in their own land, no one is a prophet.
They say on an island, to make a profit, kill a prophet.

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Copyright © 2023 Ana Portnoy Brimmer All rights reserved
from To Love an Island
YesYes Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission