Fight

They clench, they clutch, they fight the cold.
Baby fists, mighty in the moment; they fight.

Old hands, clawed up within themselves, scrap;
fight cold eyes and guns, pull themselves to fight.

Brown eyes and blue eyes fight. Their shade of skin
stops mattering with the entrance of a bullet. They fight.

Standing on the sidewalk with a poster in their hands.
Standing there wondering what to do – hell yes. They fight.

Did you wonder what you would do if it came down to it?
Did you marvel at how far away it all seemed? They fight

and you would, too, if it ever came to that; you’d yell
and scream, blow a whistle, sing a warrior chant. You’d fight

as if your being depended on it — never mind your life.
Afraid in your soul, cowering with your tongue; you’d fight

and fight until you fell covered up or exhausted or dead
to the earth below. It would honor you. If you fight,

people who matter and the very earth itself would honor you;
that is a promise. Rest and then wait for the immediate fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T