it’s quiet now.
i am empty.
curfews have forced
even the most committed home.
the teeth-like barricades
stacked against the walls
of the property
they so earnestly protected.
empty tear gas canisters
trampled signs
(silence is violence)
covid masks
flatten water bottles
(always water bottles)
tattered and torn
like a battle flag
uncertain of victory or defeat
dotted with:
sweat, tears, blood
abandoned on the concrete:
a red paisley bandana
detached from the clenched
raised fist
forsaken on the voided street
the stench of oppression
climbs the walls
and slithers into the gutters
in the daylight
the ghost of bull connor
barked
ultimatums and commands-
return to your homes
vacate the street
gas masks and bull horns
riot shields and batons
rubber bullets and tear gas
the local cops upon orders
from the civic bureaucratic
controlled and took command
of me.
but now, I bear witness:
bearing witness is a valuable way
to process an experience,
to obtain empathy and support,
to lighten our emotional load via sharing it with the witness
to obtain catharsis.
most people bear witness daily,
and not only in reaction to traumatic events.
but now,
in the quiet darkness
before dawn
nothing left but the
memories of the melee
the miasma
of this malfunctioning order.
the rain ploughs into the
developed earth
producing--
puddles
patterns
soundwaves
--stretching
into geometric shapes.
the vibrations like earthquakes
the pitch perfect
music of freedom.
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