Gardens watered. Windows opened and closed, bodies dirtied and then clean. We’ve been running down the uneven sidewalks, tripping on air, throwing words into the spaces between our mouth and the emptiness surrounding us. Hair flying in our faces. Fists clenched.
Let’s look for markers of time and gather witnesses. Let’s look for the words that can catch meaning in small nets, cast over sunburned shoulders, which weigh down our sore, callused feet.
We’ve been going long distances and have arrived where we began, miles wide, oceans apart, and with the reclamation of “you are here.” We are a small, red, dot, burning a page.
It is our privilege to struggle in the forest with fire and branches from dry, decaying trees.
We’ll share our tinder and send a message out into the air above. We’ll nourish each other with warmth and a sense of satisfaction after a hard days work or a night of restless sleep, in damp sheets, while we send out a signal in the sky, saying, “we are here.”
We want peaceful things, like supper, and warm morning coffee. We want to warm our free hands and feet at a fire. We want to rest, we want space to grow, we want to be heard, we want to be fed, we want to learn and share the world with others.
And, we, in the “free world” (mostly), have those things, and this is why we need to fight alongside of others who deserve those things, too, because we are all are deserving of these basic human rights. And, we must pay attention and push for others to listen, too.