Zachary Suri

O holy martyr when you crossed the river to be beaten by the state troopers of the Promised Land O redeemer of Dixieland when you felt the clubs touch skin and blood and blood touch dirt

Today the statues float in rivers and finally the citadels of false reverence are beginning to fall What does it say about us that we are obsessed with protecting the statues of the long-dead

Cities, I wonder what you must have looked like to my grandparents and my great greats when they steamed into Detroit from Hungary or New York Harbor from Russia and India