By Anna Lucia Deloia
a school principal confiscates
the dictionary. When a student tries to look up
the meaning of ontology (n.), she is informed
that she doesn’t exist. In Massachusetts,
the police storm a classroom to apprehend
a graphic novel. They bury it in it the woods
behind the station, because ideas aren’t allowed
in prison either – but that’s a different poem.
Every time a book is banned, a child falls
down an elevator shaft in their dream
of a future universe. Every time
a book is banned, we blow up a word
that could have meant conceivable,
if not attainable. In the United States,
we define sexual content (n.) as whatever is generative,
whatever makes us squirm, makes us learn,
makes us all. So, maybe it isn’t a different poem.
Maybe it’s a shovel. Maybe somewhere, there’s a big, hot pit of boiling
knowledge we have criminalized, and maybe a dictionary is being formed
in the core of the earth, the entry for disposable (adj.) reading
nothing, nothing, nothing,
no one, ever again.
Anna Lucia Deloia (she/her) is a queer, Italian-American social science researcher, educator, and writer based in Massachusetts. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Rattle, Midway Journal, and Paterson Literary Review. Learn more at annaluciakirby.com.
Photo credit: Timothy Neesam via a Creative Commons license.
A note from Writers Resist
Thank you for reading! If you appreciate creative resistance and would like to support it, you can make a small, medium or large donation to Writers Resist from our Give a Sawbuck page.