On Speaking Out, and the Nature of Love.

It is morning, and I wake,
eyes heavy in the lingering darkness,
limbs weak and pulsing,
A butterfly winging out
from the cocoon.

Strong but trembling,
my heart aflutter as I stumble
out into the world,
where debris cleave against my legs
with muddy sentience.

I cannot tell if this
is our reality, or some
alien, alternative world
which feels not alive but void,
volcanic semblance of living.

Like the Queen of the Night
our voices rise,
an indignant swarm
of light,
and darkness.

We shudder through
and send our thoughts, untethered
out into the world.

We shout aloud,
and voiced:
We remember.
Not again.

We breathe it out as it emerges,
our souls tethered
yoked to our shared burden,
harnessed with sweet, bitter love.

In entering this
new reality,
I cannot say just whom our
villain is
here in the dark.

I cannot say
since I have no desire
to ease into the comfortable silence
of rightness
and righteousness.

I would rather push,
into the relentless
raw exactitude
of stubborn, erstwhile hope.

yoked with interminable
we act,

We speak,
breathlessly, and
love fearfully.

Like smoke,
our urgency swirls,
through city streets and silent fields.
We will not fall, but rise.

Copley rally
We will not fall, but rise.

— S

Day 29: January 29, 2017


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