Paul’s Reviews > We the Dangerous: New and Selected Poems > Status Update
Paul
is on page 100 of 164
I wanted to
call her what
she deserved
but...
I said,
white lace & satin was never soiled by
sexism
sheltered as you are by mansions
built on Indian land
your diamonds shipped with slaves from Africa
your underwear washed by Chinese launderies
your house cleaned by my grandmother
so do not push me any further.
And when you quit
killing us
for democracy
and stop calling ME gook.
I will call you
whatever you like.
— Nov 30, 2025 08:21PM
call her what
she deserved
but...
I said,
white lace & satin was never soiled by
sexism
sheltered as you are by mansions
built on Indian land
your diamonds shipped with slaves from Africa
your underwear washed by Chinese launderies
your house cleaned by my grandmother
so do not push me any further.
And when you quit
killing us
for democracy
and stop calling ME gook.
I will call you
whatever you like.
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Paul’s Previous Updates
Paul
is on page 127 of 164
and down her nose
blood flowed like tears
battered by husbands
and lovers
for hoarding food
and love
where has love gone?
the children
will starve
remember the war
eating potato roots
and thinking of
invasions
and prison camps
she opened her legs
to the white boss man
— Dec 14, 2025 06:23PM
blood flowed like tears
battered by husbands
and lovers
for hoarding food
and love
where has love gone?
the children
will starve
remember the war
eating potato roots
and thinking of
invasions
and prison camps
she opened her legs
to the white boss man
Paul
is on page 78 of 164
his eyes held
nothing
as he whipped us
for stealing.
the desert had dried
his soul.
wordless
he sold
the rich,
full berries
to hakujines
whose children
pointed at our eyes
they ate fresh
strawberries
with cream.
Father,
I wanted to scream
at your silence.
Your strength
was a stranger
I could never touch.
iron
in your eyes
to shield
the pain
to shield desert-like wind
from patches
ofstrawberries
grown
from
tears.
— Nov 28, 2025 05:59PM
nothing
as he whipped us
for stealing.
the desert had dried
his soul.
wordless
he sold
the rich,
full berries
to hakujines
whose children
pointed at our eyes
they ate fresh
strawberries
with cream.
Father,
I wanted to scream
at your silence.
Your strength
was a stranger
I could never touch.
iron
in your eyes
to shield
the pain
to shield desert-like wind
from patches
ofstrawberries
grown
from
tears.
Paul
is on page 65 of 164
From this cell of history
this mute grave,
we birth our rage.
We heal our tongues.
We listen to ourselves
Korematsu, Hirabayashi, Yasui.
We ignite the syllables of our names.
We give testimony.
We hear the bigness of our sounds freed
like many clapping hands,
thundering for reparations.
We give testimony.
Our noise is dangerous.
We beat our hands
like wings healed.
We soar
from these walls of silence.
— Nov 25, 2025 07:54PM
this mute grave,
we birth our rage.
We heal our tongues.
We listen to ourselves
Korematsu, Hirabayashi, Yasui.
We ignite the syllables of our names.
We give testimony.
We hear the bigness of our sounds freed
like many clapping hands,
thundering for reparations.
We give testimony.
Our noise is dangerous.
We beat our hands
like wings healed.
We soar
from these walls of silence.
Paul
is on page 25 of 164
no work, no pay
she doesn’t miss a day...
Into her body
she sucked the sun,
the soil, into her fingers
her pores,
into her nostrils,
her throat
the white chemical dust
sprayed from the cropduster
into her blood
that ran through her child
who died writhing like a hooked worm.
She did not work
that day.
Displeased,
he docked her pay.
He did not offer
her child’s grave
to be planted in the shade
of his elm.
— Nov 08, 2025 10:33AM
she doesn’t miss a day...
Into her body
she sucked the sun,
the soil, into her fingers
her pores,
into her nostrils,
her throat
the white chemical dust
sprayed from the cropduster
into her blood
that ran through her child
who died writhing like a hooked worm.
She did not work
that day.
Displeased,
he docked her pay.
He did not offer
her child’s grave
to be planted in the shade
of his elm.
