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Wednesday, June 20, 2018

The Fat Lady Sings: On The Destruction of Immigrant Families

I grew up in the time of Vietnam, LBJ, and Watergate. My very earliest memory is of my father crying at the side of the road when they announced on radio that JFK was dead. My default position is to never trust government and never believe a single word uttered by any elected official. I assume always that anyone who actually wants a second term in elected office is either crazy or personally benefiting from their job in public service. No matter what team they play for, red or blue (or green or purple or orange), I verify what politicians say before I accept anything they have told us. That is my default. Please know that is always where I start political discourse.

I believe the groundwork for a complete fascist invasion of our government has been laid by members of every political party that has won an election since Lincoln (maybe before). I believe we saw it coming and failed to stop it. I believe that anyone who did not see it coming chose blindness. The warnings were there and they were clear. Don't bother whining now that you had no idea.

With regard to separation of immigrant families and the detention of immigrant children, please know that I assume all persons in power have allowed this to happen. ALL of them. And, shocked though we would like to be, this is nothing new. The United States has been decimating families since before its inception as a nation. Take a historical walk with me, now. Let's start with native Americans, take a meander through slavery, times of war, child labor, human trafficking, the Japanese interment camps, juvenile prisons for profit, and join me now outside the ICE child detention center of your choice. It's really the same old same old. The difference now is social media. We can't easily look the other way now, not unless we are willing to give up cute kitty memes and pics of our pals' dinners.

So my take is that you can blame whoever you want. Blame the Cheeto in The White House now or blame his predecessor. Blame Roosevelt or Eisenhower or Charlie the Tuna, if that floats your boat. Just know that we cannot pretend we don't know what is happening to children in detention by ICE in The US. Knowing what we know, we are obligated to take action. We are, each and every one of us, responsible for each and every one of those children held in captivity now by our government. We are obligated as human beings to do whatever it takes to see that these children are well-treated and reunited with their families.

In the coming days and weeks, I'll have more to say on this topic and others. I have never been silent. but now I will use my great big voice to speak out in a more structured way. I hope you will read what I have to say, share it far and share it wide. Then ask what you can do to fix the fascist mess we are in.


Stephanie Mesler is a writer, political activist, and musician who lives and works on Florida's East Coast.

Monday, May 21, 2018

Hammock Trail Haiku


Live oak and palm shrouds
rovers roving into dark.
Sand reveals no prints.


© 2018 Stephanie Mesler

Monday, May 7, 2018

Dockside Tom Haiku


Tom curled dockside, snores
in mid-morning sun, dreaming
of shrimpers’ free glut.

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

New Haiku: Sour Oranges



thriving past their prime,
having grown through storm and drought,
won’t go down easy


© Stephanie Mesler 2018

Monday, April 9, 2018

Olwen Haiku



Up you go, slipping-
through downy layers of haze...
Olwen, take your place.

© Stephanie Mesler 2018

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Dolphin


My Cannibal Cape




My Cannibal Cape is born from the worn out creations of women who knitted their way across continents and oceans, in and out of life and death and time itself.
I steal meat from their handiwork and weave it into my own.

Yarns connect past to future; yarn connects front to back.
Stories are told in warp and weft, reveries woven into reality, imaginings made solid -
to cover a granny's table -
make a wedding gown -
a hearth rug where warriors slept.
Now, it's my Cannibal Cape.

This fluffy bit of yellow was once the purest white.
It was a blanket worn on icy nights by babes long since passed.

The brown came from my Grandmother’s summertime hunting sweater. It smells still of forest...
and blood...
and the soap Grandma used attempting to remove the stench.

That darker green once wrapped around the hips of a pirate’s wench.
At least, that’s what Mother called herself if anyone asked what she’d done with her youth.

The red lined the matriarch’s boots when she climbed a mountain and took her people across the sea.
She fought a war, concurrently lost and won,
died old and proud and free.

These strands served them all, these women who walked my path before I had feet.
My Cannibal Cape serves me now on city streets.
It is my my armor and parchment. I write my life in every stitch.
My story echoes behind me as I walk and rings like a bell which will be heard by generations not yet come.

© Stephanie Mesler 2018

Red Woman

Red Woman By Stephanie Mesler I see you, a dismal speck of grey, washed over with the red that is myself.   You are withered and infinitesim...