Intermission
The standoff with police
lulls like an intermission—
tension plateaus
our chanting dims—
hot concrete ground is claimed or boundaried
wheelchair tire against boot
muscles against brake
they keep us waiting
rented buses with lifts and drivers on overtime
on their way
to take away those who will still
not move—
Nervous young cops
watch us closely
wordlessly
wonder what they're supposed to do with us
listen anxiously for a radioed word
when will the buses arrive
Meanwhile sometimes
while we wait
we talk
to each other
Eric is careful
keeping his cigarette away from my oxygen tank
his keen eyes follow my lips' motions
my words' shapes—
with no movement to my hands
I can't speak his language—
but he speaks mine
remembering what sound sounds like
Smiling
he talks of what he's lost—
hearing strength in his legs most of his
stamina
a career in medicine
Smiling
squinting against the sun
he talks of what he's gained—
this battle these friends
how he's grown—
from a doctor's arrogance to the vulnerability
of a patient
a better person
a gentle fighter
He concludes—no shred of irony—calling his
disability
the best thing that ever happened
to him
In fact not until later would any irony
occur to me
not until the week was over
the demonstrations done
the protestors disbursed
For now I was still accustomed
to the rhythm of chanting
and the knack for observing our histories
without shame—
I had grown used
to casual exchanges of pride
under the wary stares of police
Copyright Credit: Laura Hershey, "Intermission" from Laura Hershey: On the Life & Work of an American Master. Copyright © 2019 by Laura Hershey. Reprinted by permission of The Estate of Laura Hershey.
Source: Laura Hershey: On the Life & Work of an American Master (Unsung Masters Series, 2019)