I am a warrior unbroken by time,
my weapon a pen scratching across this paper
as I write the anger of my people.
I have seen the best of us
drowning in rivers of self-doubt,
felt their souls die a little
as we struggled to break the surface--
lips so close to the top and we can
breathe the same air as the rest--
just a little bit longer and we’ll be there.
This vessel is a thing so beautiful and divine,
speaking of it, looking at it
is an act of holiness.
But we hide, thinking we’re not
(We are not without our scars.)
I can hear the drums in the background,
calling us to march forward--
don’t give up.
It beats in me, too, a song
pulling us toward the light
that I know to be true:
We are here.
We are watching.
We are waiting.
We are fierce.
Writer, editor, and storyteller living in the Twin Cities.