Submitted by: nahohlatida
This piece is dedicated to the life of Darwin Cox, a fellow Occupier who made an impression on me while I visited the Occupy Denton camp in Texas. Darwin was found dead in the Denton camp on December 3rd.
I didn’t have the chance to see the dirt that was bound to be beneath the surface of Darwin’s fingernails. He wore a thick white knit cap beige from grime. A crusty crown with long brown dreads locked in struggle with his head. Hair isn’t dead. It grows through the cracks of caskets into the soil, Darwin’s bed. Rock pillows crafted from the fossils of gutter punk cave people who had tents carved from the guts of canyons with futuristic welcome mats of our nightmare before Christmas. Premonitions of makeshift homes pitched on the ground of a ritualistic occupied zone. Camouflage vest with pockets for whiskey and wine. Blue lotus wrapped with hemp woven with traveler’s twine. Pants with cargo that only a compass can find. And Darwin’s many zippers, the only tracks that train hopper always carried with him on the fly. Is there a big boxcar in the sky? Or is it a gondola with no ceilings open wide? Darwin, that night you followed the North Star we lingered without you clouded by a soft instinct of your departure. That night you set sail three children of the highway passed through the camp like horseman searching for your soul. Their road dog, Patience sniffed at the tent you laid in fainted. But we didn’t know that the train whistle blow was for you to hear it so you could go near it so you could meet Eshu at the crossroads. The next morning the sun consoled us with rain and it poured all fucking day resembling the Earth’s first rotation after Revolution. We left Denton with our wings untied and now we wear them around our necks as bandanas. Occupy. Your face plays in my memory like a Nina Simone song that never dies. And every now and then your smile cuts in and I’m reminded that Darwin means friend.