Stillness has cleared
a face I know.
She sits, eyes on her children’s future,
hands on the road.
She’s absorbing the rage
that stuns like soaring heat,
that beats about her
like roofs on floodwater.
When the car against her back
thrusts her forward,
there’s a moment’s cry
until her silence
takes her back
in hold.
Watching footage from my kitchen,
I remember her voice,
her laugh,
the time she told me I was brave.
Her fullness overflows
and leaves me hollow.
In print they are an eco mob
and she’s a thug.
The hashtag’s an assault.
I’m told – I half-believe –
this arms a class war,
poisons a movement,
divides us
like I’m divided.
And I’m afraid
that prison would eat at her love,
that in this world
lambs are for roasting
and someone soon
will never rise again.
And I’m in awe,
heart numbed and desolate
that she is there
and I choose not to be,
that it’s come
through callous greed
and toxic lies
to this.