Decay

The water is low
Decayed, bare growth
Crawls around the trunk of a tree

Fresh ivy wraps around a street sign
No parking
Speed limit
Yet I persist

I’ve been here before
And yet, each breath feels new
The scent of vigor floods my entire being
Almost too sweet to handle

Each dapple of sunlight
Streaming through the branches and leaves
Marks a new moment
A secret place
It’s just for me
And yet, it feels shared
It’s here for all of us

I bring them with me

Envisioning the city asleep
Slowly stirring or still in their beds
Perhaps without a bed at all

I envision each tent
Each encampment
Each life lost
I wish they were here
I wish they could see it
I wish they could hear
The rush of the river
Babbling over each rock
Water moving down kind, gentle drops
Even being kissed by mosquitos
It would tell them
They are alive
That’s how I feel
Alive, on earth,
In some kind of body

The river persists
I like it here
My action feels less urgent
And yet, there is much to do
How can I share this peace?
How can I spread earth’s love?
Why do I get to be here
And they don’t?

Such questions may be fruitless
And yet, I wonder still

I yearn for hope
It feels selfish to keep it alive
To hold in this white body
With male-passing privilege
And the sickening realities
Of oppression and harm
How can I share this “hope?”
How can I hold onto it,
Or should I let things ebb and flow?

The sun beats down on my brow

My eyes squint, yet unrelent
My determination and zeal feel real
Potent
Forceful
Almost intimidating
Am I to be feared, or loved?
Or both?