Tired, Awkward, Stretched Thin

We’re tired, we’re awkward,
we’re stretched
as thin as can be,
and there’s still so far to go.

We don’t know yet
how far there is to go.
Outside of these safe enclaves
filling now with misery and fear

are smug men waiting
to chop us up and eat us
and we don’t know yet 
when they will pounce.

Outside of the bubbles
we live in
are knives and needles
and white, white anger

infused with glee, 
and we don’t know when
they will pierce through
to us

the way they’ve always 
pierced through to 
others not as fortunate
as we have been. In fact,

we’re stretched thin and
awkward and tired
at least in part
because of how weak

we’ve become. Other folks
have lived this way
for a long time.  These are just
the latest set of knives 

to them, maybe a little swifter
and sharper, maybe a little more
openly wielded, but these are 
the same old edges and points

they have always faced
when only rarely were we
standing alongside them
on the barricades — so, know this:

memories around here
are long, sharp,
tired, and awkward;
mercy is stretched thin,

and we look too much
like past accommodation, future
complacency, and current enemy
to expect a full embrace.