An American Poem

I was born in Boston in 1949. I never wanted this fact to be known, in fact I’ve spent the better half of my adult life trying to sweep my early years under the carpet and have a life that was clearly just mine and independent of the historic fate of my family. Can you imagine what it was like to be one of them, to be built like them, to talk like them to have the benefits of being born into such a wealthy and powerful American family. I went to the best schools, had all kinds of tutors and trainers, traveled widely, met the famous, the controversial, and the not-so-admirable and I knew from a very early age that if there were ever any possibility of escaping the collective fate of this famous Boston family I would take that route and I have. I hopped on an Amtrak to New York in the early ‘70s and I guess you could say my hidden years began. I thought Well I’ll be a poet. What could be more foolish and obscure. I became a lesbian. Every woman in my family looks like a dyke but it’s really stepping off the flag when you become one. While holding this ignominious pose I have seen and I have learned and I am beginning to think there is no escaping history. A woman I am currently having an affair with said you know  you look like a Kennedy. I felt the blood rising in my cheeks. People have always laughed at my Boston accent confusing “large” for “lodge,” “party” for “potty.” But when this unsuspecting woman invoked for the first time my family name I knew the jig was up. Yes, I am, I am a Kennedy. My attempts to remain obscure have not served me well. Starting as a humble poet I quickly climbed to the top of my profession assuming a position of leadership and honor. It is right that a woman should call me out now. Yes, I am a Kennedy. And I await your orders. You are the New Americans. The homeless are wandering the streets of our nation’s greatest city. Homeless men with AIDS are among them. Is that right? That there are no homes for the homeless, that there is no free medical help for these men.And women. That they get the message —as they are dying— that this is not their home? And how are your teeth today? Can you afford to fix them? How high is your rent? If art is the highest and most honest form of communication of our times and the young artist is no longer able to move here to speak to her time…Yes, I could, but that was 15 years ago and remember—as I must I am a Kennedy. Shouldn’t we all be Kennedys? This nation’s greatest city is home of the business- man and home of the rich artist. People with beautiful teeth who are not on the streets. What shall we do about this dilemma? Listen, I have been educated. I have learned about Western Civilization. Do you know what the message of Western Civilization is? I am alone. Am I alone tonight? I don’t think so. Am I the only one with bleeding gums tonight. Am I the only homosexual in this room tonight. Am I the only one whose friends have died, are dying now. And my art can’t be supported until it is gigantic, bigger than everyone else’s, confirming the audience’s feeling that they are alone. That they alone are good, deserved to buy the tickets to see this Art. Are working, are healthy, should survive, and are normal. Are you normal tonight? Everyone here, are we all normal. It is not normal for me to be a Kennedy. But I am no longer ashamed, no longer alone. I am not alone tonight because we are all Kennedys. And I am your President.