by Marguerite Bouvard
The headlines want nothing less than total
surrender, to have us raise our hands
above our heads with their pistols
against our backs. If we are afraid,
we’ll stop trusting our eyes,
our steps that carry us through the day’s
rough terrain. Our hands will forget
the kingdom of touch, we’ll rein in
our voices, stop sending thoughts
that would bind us to each other
across oceans, through mountains.
But a moment can redeem us:
a dove piercing the morning air
with its hoo hoo, the crimson throat
of an orange hibiscus opening,
a pair of monarch butterflies
swooping and weaving in tremulous
foreplay, then soaring above the trees
reminding us that we too are citizens
of the sky, the wind, the light.
Marguerite Bouvard is the author of five books and three chapbooks of poetry and several books on human rights and one on grieving. She is a resident Scholar at Brandeis Univeristy's Women's Studies' Research Center.
