Resistance

I remember standing on the street and reading the names
of the United States dead during our aggression in Vietnam
until I fainted.  When the police van dropped me off
at the emergency room, a policeman called me “commie hippy.”
 
I remember demonstrating against every war and act of aggression
since then.  I called it peace work. 
Peace work was resistance in many forms, none of them violent.
Sit-ins, sit-downs, stand ups, stand between, stand with.  Voice.
 
Sit—stand—walk--pray.  Resistance rose out of the body, flowing
from the heart with the strength of courage.  Its energy drew
resistors together for safety in numbers, for multiplication of power,
for support of those willing to be arrested, waiting to be arrested.
 
And now, we seem to be at war again—against Venezuelan fishing boats
said to be carrying drugs.  We’re bombing them out of the water.
We’re killing survivors.  We’re blocking the country’s airspace.  All
while pardoning convicted drug kingpins from other countries.
 
And this is my resistance.  Only these words in this poem—
Political and personal.  I’m not sure where else to stand
to resist the folly of this government willing to endanger
all of us for a few more gallons of oil, a few more bars of gold.

For Sherry's prompt "Resistance" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2025 Susan L. Chast