I don’t have time/energy right now to share very much commentary; hopefully people are aware of the news here in Minnesota. Our No Kings rally went forward, and even with authorities telling people not to gather, thousands of people showed up. I shared a poem.
Actually wrote and memorized it last week, but because it ended up being about grief, how we carry it, and what we might do with it, it felt appropriate to share today too. Full text below, for the folks who have been asking for it.
ALSO: please check out the latest post in my FREE email newsletter: What’s next? Things to do after a big march
NO KINGS, ALL BRICKS
by Kyle Tran Myhre
The ancestor on my shoulder doesn’t tell me to put the brick down, or that the weight isn’t worth it. I’m sure many of you are familiar with that… heaviness, whether guilt, or grief, or just the daily shipwreck of the news, all this information we already know:
How things are bad. How they’ve always been bad for some of us, and how shining a light on the bad thing doesn’t change it… but can be a first step. How a big march or rally can be a first step, but is never a destination. How going “back to normal” is going backwards. And how desperately the cowards in power want you going backwards, want you to put that brick down, want you to focus on your job, make money—focus on your family.
But I don’t have a family without immigrants and refugees. The word family means nothing to me when it doesn’t include trans people. The word community means nothing when it doesn’t include people with disabilities. Words like justice, peace—they are empty when they don’t include Palestinians. There are no billionaires on my block, no kings welcome in my grandmother’s kitchen. Her voice, a beacon: don’t you dare put that brick down. Not yet.
There are days so heavy they pull the light in: guiding star, silver lining, dawn after darkness. All that light beyond our reach; all this heavy held close: these bricks we carry, engraved with the names of all who carried us, made from the mud of home. Heavy: like telling the truth in a nation ruled by liars. Heavy: like refusing to leave anyone behind even when your enemies demand it. Even when your allies demand it. Heavy: like grief: the ghosts we all carry. The ancestor on my shoulder tells me:
When you feel yourself flickering, remember: your job is not to be the light. Not to shine with perfect clarity or illuminate, on your own, every evil in this world. Your job is not to be the light—it is to help build the lighthouse. And for that, we need to get our hands dirty. We need to join organizations. We need more than brilliance; we need bricks.
No king carries this weight. We do. No king knows the names of our neighbors. We do. No king protects the water, shares food with the hungry, shows up, arm in arm with a hundred other people when ICE tries to tear apart a family. We do. And we will.
We carry the radiant future: a reckoning, a promise, a song. This weight, this love, was never a burden. It is what makes us strong.
~~~
UPDATE: Here’s video of the performance; this embed should be queued to the right spot:
If you’re new to my work, find more about me here, and more of my poems and videos all over this site. I’m also on IG and Bluesky. If you want to bring me to your organization, or school, or theater, or church, or conference, or whatever to perform and/or facilitate a workshop (all of which is what I do for a living), book me here.
I had already prepped this little artist’s statement blurb, so I’ll end with that:
A regular workshop I facilitate is on how we can talk about the issues that are important to us in a way that doesn’t just win poetry slams, get published, or impress our cool artsy friends—but that can be performed at a rally or action, that can both affirm and challenge the audience.
Obviously, that is easier said than done! This was a good opportunity to put some of the questions we discussed in those spaces into practice:
- How might we invite people in without just telling them what they want to hear?
- How might we recognize the limitations of a short poem while also planting the seed of a deeper, more radical engagement with issues?
- How might we make connections and cultivate solidarity?
- How might we try to be inspiring without being corny? (which is subjective, I know)
Those are big questions, and you can judge for yourself how “successful” this poem is. In my head, I’m trying to remember that in front of that many people, with a booming, sometimes hard-to-get-every-word sound system, the job isn’t to share the best poem; the job is to hope that at least a few lines “land.” Bringing Palestine into the space mattered to me. The “allies” line was important to me. It’s like, there’s poetry stuff happening in terms of the interplay of light/darkness + light/heavy, and the light/lighthouse stuff; but that all probably doesn’t “land” as well as a not-so-poetic line like “I don’t have a family without immigrants and refugees.” Again, I’m just sharing some process notes for anyone else out there who might find it useful.
Finally: something we hear a lot around big marches is “what’s the point?” And I think the answer is the point is what YOU make it. The march itself (again, like the poem) is never the thing; it’s a stepping stone to the thing. If you need to find hope by being around lots of people, get that. If you need to hear calls to action + learn more about how to plug in, get that. If you hate every second of it because it’s too moderate or normie cringe or whatever, use that as fuel to build something better, something more attractive to the mass audience we’re going to need to win. Thanks for reading.
A cool montage featuring part of my poem, via Alberto Villafan for Sahan Journal:
ADDITIONAL LINKS THAT MAY BE OF INTEREST
- I’ll be performing again in the Twin Cities three times this July: at Moon Palace Books, Boneshaker Books, and a big, free, all-ages, outdoor event at Silverwood Park. Info on all three here.
- If you’re newer to showing up and getting involved, I have this zine and this zine that are both full of doorways, invitations to keep going.
- Finally, lots of people asking about my shirt; you can’t see it in the photo here, but it says “Believe Trans Kids” and you can get one via TIGERRS here.
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