THE MARCH

burnt alive and limbs twisted
back like gnarled oaks counting
hundreds of years with the same
shoving roots. too aggressive
he says, and we say eat shit

bring on the chainsaws for our
slaughter, splay our needles out
like blood and bile for we’ve
always more to lose but still
more growing

a clear-cut in the children’s
park, church parking lot, public
private old-growth stands, the
silent heaving wombs that
made you now under your fire

fight back, he cries: the grasping
child swinging fitful little hands,
his mother laughing rises. time
again to teach him what is right
and what is wrong.

in solidarity with the women’s march against the Trump inauguration and the anti-Trump resistance movement

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