The Raft Weekly is the Saturday “goody bag” for the online community of author Phyllis Cole-Dai. Ride the river of a creative life, buoyed by her latest writings as well as nudges for your own expressive practice, boosts of curated poetry and music, and more.
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WHY
Phyllis Cole-Dai
We know
why the caged bird sings
why the caged lion paces
why the caged cow licks the bars
why the caged fish circles
why the caged rabbit gnaws
why the caged chicken pecks its own feathers
why the caged lab dog whimpers
why the caged man counts
why the caged woman rocks
why the caged child wails
why the caged conscience will not eat
When we do not know
why
we build an eight-sided cage
of chain-link star-spangled steel
in the backyard of our big white house
beneath rigging for lights and cameras
raised ninety feet
above the canvas stage
We christen this rig the Claw
We invite the neighbors over
select some to lock inside the cage
to square off like gamecocks
inflict pain
draw blood
while we cheer them on
from the bleachers
high on the sour smell of spectacle
When we do not know
why
we have caged ourselves
inside a cage
inside that cage
and see no bars
We believe we are free
Hear how we yowl
from the cage of our ribs
As always, you’re free to share my work with friends, on social media, and so on (with attribution). Please contact me for publication rights.
☀️ “The reality is the UFC [Ultimate Fighting Championship] is who we’ve been all along as a country,” says journalist Michael Thomsen, author of Cage Kings: How an Unlikely Group of Moguls, Champions & Hustlers Transformed the UFC into a $10 Billion Industry. This is his take on the spectacle scheduled for tomorrow (June 14th) on the White House lawn.
That cage fight represents nothing that I value. I simply had to write a poem to say so.
The opening two lines are a nod to Maya Angelou. As I was pondering the direction I might take for this poem, the title of her memoir sprang to mind (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings). From there, the poem began to unspool. I just followed the thread.
My use of the first-person “we” throughout the poem expresses my conviction that all of us are together in this national mess (and on this blessed blue-marble planet), and we need one another—even if half of us don’t believe it.
I beg you to contemplate the “neighbors” we “select” to “lock up” in the cage of our national life, subjecting them to one sort of violence or another, even turning them against each other, while relishing the infliction of cruel wounds.
So long as we continue to participate in this wrongdoing, or simply stand by and allow it, we are not free. We are confined to a cage.
How do we recover the key?
☀️ Following the muse’s nudge, write a poem (or create something else) that makes repeated use of an interrogative, such as who, whose, what, when, were, why, who, which …
☀️ Treat yourself to the boosts below in one sitting or spread your pleasure over the week. Click on the colored links to access them.
Poetry: “To the Astronaut Who Hopes Life on Another Planet Will Be More Bearable” (Brad Aaron Modlin)
Vocal music: “Pass It Along” (Scott Cook, Pamela Mae, & friends). Lyrics here.
Vocal music: “I Am a Prayer” (Joy Harjo & Ganavya). Poem/lyrics here.
Instrumental music: “Opening” (Rebell Gitarrkvartett)
For peace’s sake: I ain’t sayin’ what it is but enjoy.
☀️ EVERY NON-HOLIDAY THURSDAY: Poetry Pick-Me-Up (Zoom, 1-2PM ET, 12-1 CT, 11-12 MT, 10-11 PT). FREE! A casual poetry-sharing and discussion group. Bring a published poem that you’ve recently read to share, or come simply to listen. (Please, no original poetry.) Just hop on the Zoom at this link.
Can’t make it to PPMU? Every replay is available in the “Catch Up!” archive.
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thank you! As many of us recognize Sunday as No Kings - continue the fight! This is purrfect.
Wonderful, Phyllis! I love the way this poem unspooled for you... and the cage metaphor is unfortunately not merely a metaphor. And you're right—"We believe we are free"—but we so aren't. Thank you for this moving poem.