The Resistance

‘I was a survivor once’ she said.

‘Watching shadows and listening for voices.

Sirens rounding desolate corners and a helicopter above.

That hawk could take out each of us mice.

Scuttling between trees, making ourselves invisible.

We resisted.

Some fickle bravery coarsed veins and filled heads.

I joined them.

Defiance in our eyes and on our lips.

They saw it.

But that was back then, a sepia photo.

Now I’m silent.

I clasp the paper tightly.

My fingertips sweating on the crisp sheet

They will demand it you see.

A bee settled on the wild flowers.

Nobody comes here any more.

I pick one for my museum.

It’s forbidden but I do it anyway.

When it dies I will name it, hold a ceremony.

When was I free to exist?

They count each breath.

It’s time for the tea ritual.

Doors locked, curtains drawn.

‘I was a survivor once’ she said.

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