Assembly

1.

The bell rings.

We march into the yard -

neat hair, neat knees,

two braids, stepping to it -

in our rows and rows,

as the flag above us,

wriggles and unfurls.

I know this movement 

like I know my own face. 

This is us, some several uniformed

school girl pez dispensers.

Out of our mouths, week on week

that candy-sweet song 

of independence and allegiance.

National Anthem

Is that what they call it?

Boy, you’re so handsome —-

       (Oh no, that’s a Lana Del Rey lyric.

       Never mind.)

2. 

Up there, they can’t listen.

But here, in the park, city and street surround us. 

So we move, as one, in every direction 

upon the disjointed world. Our feet

tickle the rough tape holding 

the shards together. Faster and faster, 

one after the other, marching over

the fissures —the tape uncurls

windows shake, 

and the glass goes flying, so -

they tell us it’s all over.

Better when you march,

to unclench fists, desist -

keep your palms outstretched, 

as if toward something above you.

Meaning heaven, of course, not us.

Something higher than yourself, is all.

And your throat? Should croak a hymn, as well. 

We have a few written for your ease.

Choose any of them, please just something

peaceful, encouraging. The idea of utopia,

but not the cost of it, and not the —-

3.

In our hundreds and our thousands.

In our thousands and our millions.

We are not the droids you were looking for.

                                 (Another reference, sorry, I’m trying

                                 to replace the words that were

                                 lodged in me with others,

                                 some borrowed, though new ones,

                                 new ones rushing —-

There is nothing for the world but more heat. And for the universe, a heat death.

In between, there is this gap; time going velvet-dark like a late winter sky. And here and there, the faint glimmer of what must be a star or two, persisting, stubborn broken bits of unswept glass. And there is not enough light now to see my face - or yours, or yours.  Nor need. Our grinning heads, they long ago snapped off our bodies. See, how we sink into the ground now, a blockade, a camp, a boulder dense as love deeper and deeper,  burrowing through earth, into the stillness of everyone who hoped, who left us suddenly I understand freedom

^{Footnote: this poem was written using the Red Tape constraint in response to legislation affecting the right to Public Assembly (Protest Laws); and during the months of protests unfolding across the country for Palestinian liberation. Solidarity.}