as we turn
our revolution will not be televised
We are amidst a turning,
upside down, underneath
shift, float, fall
loosen and let go.
Each of us, a pulse,
heartbeat, heartache
neurons of jellyfish
dangle and dance,
angels of water
stretch and sing.
Thrum hum thrum hum thrum hum.
Revolution is the act of revolving:
to rotate, change direction, turn around a point.
We are alive as revolutions of matter—
sun and moon,
tide and season,
egg, pupa, beetle,
spider, web, catch, eat,
build and crumble,
try, give up, and try again.
We live as forever spiral.
We know this,
and we forget.
So we look out to find markings of time
and look out to search for the axis of our revolving.
Yet out is in.
We know this too,
and we forget.
So we let the screens tell the stories of our revolving
and let ourselves be pulled away from the true axis around which we turn.
Do you feel it, the truth around which you turn?
Do you feel the pulse of our collective rhythm and rising?
Our revolution will not be televised.*
It doesn’t have sides and isn’t about ideas.
It can’t be coopted by slogans or agendas.
It won’t ride upon a fire horse to plant a new kind of flag.
The revolution lives the in-and-out of our breath
as we remember:
we are only spiral,
ocean, sky, skin, and stone
and we are always turning
around the axis of love.
So it is, Melissa
We live as forever spiral.
We know this, and we forget.
Out is in.
We know this too, and we forget.
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*Gratitude to Gil Scott-Heron, the original poet who penned the phrase “The revolution will not be televised.”
