Earth Hour

MARCH 26, 2022 – 8:30pm to 9:30pm PT

On this Saturday evening,
I take a break
From electricity.

Decisive move,
Hand to wall switch.
Lights off. Candles on.

Lit match to a few candle wicks.
Shadows on walls and ceiling shimmy,
Dance to flame’s spontaneous rhythm.

Dimly lit
Comfort zone, filled with
Comfort food on a plate, all plant-based.

Black bean burgers on sourdough with
Spicy brown mustard, pickles,
Chips on the side, sea salt-seasoned,

Pineapple juice, ice-cold, in
A glass mug to wash down my
Cruelty-free repast. Purple grapes—saved for later.

My eyes took on a feast of their own:
Documentary on YouTube
On Chernobyl—Nuclear disaster area

Or ecological miracle?
Village rewilds despite slow decay.
Menagerie of animals roam free—Humans long gone.

Ten minutes left.
Like last time,
Meditate. Brown eyes shut. Bald Black head lowered.

Draw deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
Thoughts set on her,
Our endangered Earth—

Flash floods on the Gulf Coast,
Typhoons in the Philippines,
American Southwest dry to the extreme,

The Amazon and California burn in the Summer—
Thoughts set on everything
We could lose—

On this Saturday evening,
I take a break
From electricity.

Transient time to reflect on my only home.
Redemption from neglect, though, will take more than 60 minutes.
Lights off. Candles on.

***

Beads

The only physical reminder
I have of my grandmother
Mixed African
And Native American

Is a string of coloured beads.
Crafted, strung together by her
Aged hands whilst sitting in bed, gifted to me
At age 27. Her way of telling her Afro-Punk grandboy:

Never forget your roots.
Roots running deep
In each tiny bead
In Afrocentric primary colours:

Blood of West African
Southeast North American tribes—Red.
Skin of the first people on Earth
Responsible for firsts—Black.

Jungles, woodlands taken
Out of greed and conquest—Green.
Shining sun, restorer of biology
And good vibes—Yellow.

Sole remnant
Of my beloved,
Of mixed heritage,
Hand-made bridge

Between continents
Expropriated,
A string of coloured beads
I label as “nothing fancy”

Yet wore on special occasions
With black for the black
Recalls my grandmother’s unspoken plea:
Never forget your roots.

[ For Tricia DeJesus b.k.a. Phynne ~ Belle. ]

***

An African-Italian performance poet based in Oakland, California, Dee Allen. has been active on creative writing & Spoken Word since the early 1990s. Author of seven books–Boneyard, Unwritten Law, Stormwater, Skeletal Black [ all from POOR Press ], Elohi Unitsi [ Conviction 2 Change Publishing ], Rusty Gallows [ Vagabond Books ] and Plans [ Nomadic Press ]–and 69 anthology appearances under his figurative belt so far.