Dear Protest
My first was over an unjust grounding
I hurled a hunger strike at the judge
My mom / used to our theatrics /
Went on baking her cinnamon rolls
The duplicitous aroma / my rumbling stomach
Betrayed any ledge of drama
Tear gas and billy clubs
Framed the war one
Dylan and Baez singing fire
Peace signs / anger / smoke inciting the air
We knew too many dead
Tie dyes bleeding more than color
We thought nature’s escape
The spiritual answer
Where the only protestors
Were the bluejays and squirrels
But the world called us back
In the cold / I linked my woman’s heart
With ageless voices / tattoos / pink hats / brothers in justice
Like a river roiling Main Street
Solid in sisterhood / a raft of power
George Ella singing our strength
Did Thoreau imagine it would be a full-time job
Stonewall / guns / civil rights / Standing Rock / science / climate / ICE / data centers
An endless assault
I didn’t walk the one that haunts me still
I shared a room with pain back then
Leaning heavily on my cane
Watching marchers surge streets below my balcony
As one they dropped / clasping hands behind backs
Chants like a feral storm
I can’t breathe
I grabbed my cane and banged the metal rail
I can’t breathe
A neighbor stepped out / returned with two clanging pots
I can’t breathe
Sliding glass doors opened / others spilling onto terraces
Shouting / thumping / beating the ache of hearts
I can’t breathe
We could have been prisoners
Demanding food / blankets / clean clothes
A community hammering / building
A house to include us all
A choir hymning desperate prayers
I can’t breathe
For nine minutes the world felt whole
Our voices one iron rung of unity
Slowly / slowly / the marchers rose
Moved on / voices fading with distance
And we left with our anger
Our sadness
Our lungs that filled and emptied
17 thoughts on "Dear Protest"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Wonderfully descriptive and carries a lot of meaning on multiple levels. Thank you Sylvia!
Last stanza is remarkable with lines like:
for nine minutes the world felt whole
and we left with our anger
Gosh, it’s amazing to consider one’s history of personal protest. I can picture you banging on your balcony overlooking Courthouse Square and love the way the banging grows
I read it twice. And what an epic!
So much culture and power in this piece, Sylvia.
“I can’t breathe” motif kept the tension alive.
Such an incredible piece!
Love the perspective and the time travel.
Kaleidoscope of a poem! Love stanza 3 especially. Also great is the George Ella shoutout. She’s Kentucky’s Joan Baez I think…
<3
WOW! You place us right there with you at each step. This is just breathtaking:
“In the cold / I linked my woman’s heart
With ageless voices / tattoos / pink hats / brothers in justice
Like a river roiling Main Street
Solid in sisterhood / a raft of power
George Ella singing our strength ”
Yes!
👏👏👏
I love how the early stanzas take us back in time – through tie dye to tattoos. And then the protest that you say you didn’t attend – I can just feel the crescendo of neighbors. Masterful, Sylvia!
What a stunning poem, Sylvia. How it moves through time. Love the mention of George Ella, and that last, long stanza took my breath away. Thank you for this.
Strong message, Sylvia! People standing together can be a powerful voice!
Such a blend of historical and contemporary in this poem of protest. It gave me chills as your words took me back in time, leading up to the banging on the iron rails of the balconies, in unison. Masterful protest poem.
YES, YES, YES! I treasure the pink hat I knit for myself. The way 10k filled downtown Lexington! I missed the George Floyd protests too — laid up like you. (We old protesters are forced to become even more selective in picking our battles.)
I don’t know if you intended this, but the message to me is clear — why do we have to keep “re-inventing the wheel?” Or as I’m often heard to say, “History doesn’t repeat itself. We stupid humans repeat history.” How have we not gone extinct?
Powerful. Especially like how you drive this power with the call “I can’t breathe” and each response.
“Went on baking her cinnamon rolls” — that is cruel and unusual punishment! But very, very clever of her.
That ‘I can’t breathe’ crescendo gave me chills, and the final lines about lungs that still fill and empty just linger. Well done, Sylvia!