by Diane Elayne Dees
They feared not Matthew, but themelves,
the night they tied him to the fence,
where he bled and froze, and finally died.
He saw the vast Wyoming sky,
that night they tied him to a fence,
through bruised and cut and swollen eyes.
He saw the vast Wyoming sky
grow small and dim, then disappear.
Through bruised and cut and swollen eyes,
he glimpsed the jagged shape of rage
grow small and blur and disappear
into an endless night of fear.
Then he saw the jagged shape of hate
cut through the landscape like a scythe.
Throughout an endless night of fear,
the piercing screams of Matthew's brothers
cut through that landscape. Like a scythe,
the truth cut through the sleeping town,
while the piercing screams of Matthew's sisters
howled over mountains and across wide plains.
As truth sweeps through the sleeping town
where he bled and froze, and finally died--
from frigid mountains to rolling plains--
they fear not Matthew, but themselves.
Diane Elayne Dees is an activist for feminism, LGBT equality, and the liberation of non-humans. Her poems about peace and justice have appeared in Out of Line, HazMat Review, The New Verse News, Mobius, and other journals. Author of the now-inactive social/political blog, The Dees Diversion, and former blogger for the Mother Jones MoJo Blog, Diane now publishes Women Who Serve, a blog about women's professional tennis.
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