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.
