Mamma Brought the Ammunition
by Hannah Jean

Come, Ma, Sister
Or you’ll miss your revolution.
Throw back your Martha Stewart kitchen curtains
And do not remain docile
As our majorettes lead the parade to Washington.
Come from your humble shacks
And your Malibu beach homes
And your New York lofts.
Leave dishes in the dirty sink water,
And let the laundry fester in the washer
And leave the iron to set fire to
Forty three dress shirts.

Toss your Mary Janes and Nine Wests beneath the table.
Even Birkenstocks cannot contain you.
Rip the seams of your frilled aprons.
Tear the buttons from your navy blazers.
Desert pleated trousers and boho belts and turquoise chunk necklaces
Because you, Sister, are naked as we are.

So flee your kitchens and your corner offices,
Your deadbeat fathers and your Senator husbands,
Your Betty Crocker library and your Disney movie family room,
Because the soles of your feet are hungry for hot pavement
And they thirst for the muddy water
That will pour forth from the ground beneath your weight
And pull the goose bumps
Of revolution
From your belly.