Punctuations & Wind
By Tess Taylor
Then once again someone is shot
at a school by a sniper by police in a movie theater
& the many homeless
are hustled & hunted.
You read how your clothes are sewn by slaves
your dinner fished by slaves
your fruit picked by starving children.
Mostly you don't get away.
Mostly you raise the children you have,
afraid of no health care, of losing
the one goodish job you've finally got.
Mostly you keep your nose to the grindstone.
Your heart flails
a thick fish in your throat.
You have a felt for a long time that someone is watching:
The administration is eroding your benefits.
But you are lucky, so you try to feel lucky.
By the numbers you have always lived
in an apartheid state.
You look at your child.
Read reports of the tear gas.
Text a friend. Cry at night.
Some days you march when people are marching
some batter windows some are hit
things are cancelled:
The year has been dry
even small rain will lead to mudslides.
Some nights you wake only to feel
yourself for a few minutes grieving
or praying & hearing in darkness
the old tree tossing & tossing & wild
the storm coming
Copyright Credit: Tess Taylor, "Punctuations & Wind" from Rift Zone. Copyright © 2020 by Tess Taylor. Reprinted by permission of Red Hen Press.
Source: Rift Zone (Red Hen Press, 2020)