TELL YOUR REPS to STOP ICE

It’s time to show our demands

WRITE WRITE WRITE I’m posting poem used at #LightsforLiberty, and it was fabulous for our topics (I spoke on why I took a seat on the ACLU Chapter in Collier County and the relationship of the current raids to the Holocaust; members of the NAACP joined me at the event).

Copy all or any part of the poem and send to the elected reps in SWFL. I’m including their emails, FB and Twitter addresses. NOTE: do not remove the mailto: in front of some of the addresses: use it in the email you want to send, just as I have formatted it

Contact Info for SWFL Reps

It’s very important that you tell them, again and again, how you feel. The poem is split into paragraphs. Send them however much you want to.

Emails, Facebook and Twitter addresses

  • mailto:mariodiazbalart.house
  • Byron.Donalds@myfloridahouse.gov
  • mailto:francisrooney.house.gov
  • passidomo.kathleen@flsenate.gov
  • mailto:rubio.senate.gov
  • mailto:rickscott.senate.gov
  • mailto:flgov.com
  • Bill.Mcdaniel@colliercountyfl.gov
  • Burt.Saunders@colliercountyfl.gov

Somali poem 

(British-Somali poet) 

Home

By Warsan Shire 

(British-Somali poet) 

no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark.

you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well.

your neighbours running faster

than you, the boy you went to school with who kissed you dizzy behind

the old tin factory is holding a gun bigger than his body, you only leave home

when home won’t let you stay.

no one would leave home unless home chased you, fire under feet,

hot blood in your belly.

it’s not something you ever thought about doing, and so when you did –

you carried the anthem under your breath, waiting until the airport toilet

to tear up the passport and swallow,

each mouthful of paper making it clear that you would not be going back.

you have to understand, no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.

 who would choose to spend days and nights in the stomach of a truck unless the miles travelled

meant something more than journey.

no one would choose to crawl under fences,

be beaten until your shadow leaves you,

raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of

the boat because you are darker, be sold,

starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,

be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,

make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten, stripped and searched, find prison everywhere

and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side with go home blacks, refugees

dirty immigrants, asylum seekers

sucking our country dry of milk, dark, with their hands out

smell strange, savage –

look what they’ve done to their own countries, what will they do to ours?

the dirty looks in the street

softer than a limb torn off,

the indignity of everyday life

more tender than fourteen men who look like your father, between

your legs, insults easier to swallow than rubble, than your child’s body

in pieces – for now, forget about pride your survival is more important.

i want to go home, but home is the mouth of a shark home is the barrel of the gun

and no one would leave home unless home chased you to the shore unless home tells you to

leave what you could not behind, even if it was human.

no one leaves home until home

is a damp voice in your ear saying leave, run now, i don’t know what i’ve become.

home is the mouth of a shark.

you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well.

your neighbours running faster

than you, the boy you went to school with who kissed you dizzy behind

the old tin factory is holding a gun bigger than his body, you only leave home

when home won’t let you stay.

no one would leave home unless home chased you, fire under feet,

hot blood in your belly.

it’s not something you ever thought about doing, and so when you did –

you carried the anthem under your breath, waiting until the airport toilet

to tear up the passport and swallow,

each mouthful of paper making it clear that you would not be going back.

you have to understand, no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.

 who would choose to spend days and nights in the stomach of a truck unless the miles travelled

meant something more than journey.

no one would choose to crawl under fences,

be beaten until your shadow leaves you,

raped, then drowned, forced to the bottom of

the boat because you are darker, be sold,

starved, shot at the border like a sick animal,

be pitied, lose your name, lose your family,

make a refugee camp a home for a year or two or ten, stripped and searched, find prison everywhere

and if you survive and you are greeted on the other side with go home blacks, refugees

dirty immigrants, asylum seekers

sucking our country dry of milk,dark, with their hands out

smell strange, savage –

look what they’ve done to their own countries, what will they do to ours?

the dirty looks in the street

softer than a limb torn off,

the indignity of everyday life

more tender than fourteen men who look like your father, between

your legs, insults easier to swallow than rubble, than your child’s body

in pieces – for now, forget about pride your survival is more important.

i want to go home, but home is the mouth of a shark home is the barrel of the gun

and no one would leave home unless home chased you to the shore unless home tells you to

leave what you could not behind, even if it was human.

no one leaves home until home

is a damp voice in your ear saying leave, run now, i don’t know what i’ve become.

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