She reminds you
With dark eyes that glow in sunlight
With soft fingers brushing purple flower buds
Then your cheek;
Reminds you
That time needs care
To peel back the skins of error;
Just start, so simple
To find that raw moment
When it was just a look
That opened it all;
When she in the white dress turned,
Showed the air vast and wild,
Said, this is me
Said follow;
And you had to be
Willing to leap.
It was the only word that mattered.
NO!
So she painted it in blue.
NO!
These things can not stand.
She painted it in green.
And the paint dripped down the wall.
You can’t have me.
You can’t have them.
Can’t hide them, steal them, beat them.
NO!!!!
She painted it in red.
One foot tall.
NO.
Then bending, three feet tall.
There are more than just me.
You can’t stop us.
No.
The word on the wall everywhere.
Resist
Fight back.
Tell them NO.
The last word
A running start, ten feet long, drippy, uneven, as ragged as the moment,
A scream from us all.
NNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!
What’s it mean? Someone asked.
“It’s how we win.”
She draws you from the place
Where you left yourself
In darkness.
Hair in the wind
Fingers brushing grass tops;
Eyes wide and round
A voice like silk,
Says follow.
The glow finds her,
like sunlight finds the air.
Frames her.
Draws you.
Rise.
It is the only choice.
It is the weight of light that saves you.
Ankles crossed, arms wrapping knees, waiting
As sunlight strips mist
From lips and shoulders
Drenched by passing rain;
Brown bodied
Changed from white dress
Open
Smiling
Giving, taking.
Joyous leaping.
Loving.
Free.
We never thought we’d have to,
March, that is,
Not for this.
Not for everything.
Didn’t they fight this war centuries ago?
But we have always marched,
A few at first, then more
And more and more
For every version of freedom we can define.
Marched, pressed bodies against the will of oppressors
Till they weaken and run.
Because they will weaken
And run and hide and lie;
and when defeated stand bewildered
and angry and unlearned.
as we grabbed back with they have taken.
Marched, a million voices filling
The air with a ragged cry: No, No, No.
The echo of slaves, heroes, lovers and friends;
Rough hands, slim fingers, cane limpers,
Legless, slightless, born and unborn
War torn and innocent
Breathing the air of imperfect freedom,
Cracking the leaning wall with
The righteous defiance of love.
Marched because the past taught us how;
Marched to teach the future;
Marched to a common place,
And raised voices like thunder,
Voices like prayer
Voices like song.
Marched, again eyes wide
Marched again aroused,
Marched again awake.
What can you bring her that she hasn’t offered?
What can you say that she hasn’t said?
But says with her fingers light on your neck
Says with eyes dark and moody, offering surprise
Says with silence that lingered too long
Leaving room for an answer
Without words
As the white dress glows transparent
In sunlight like an open soul.
I’ll be taking part in these two upcoming book events with copies of the award-winning Frank Nagler Mysteries.
Daffodils poking yellow heads,
bluebells litter
Roses mere buds.
Fragile crocuses pale purple
Stain the white dress
Waist gathered
Lavender brushed;
chilled skin
drips with honeysuckle
the sweetest water.
Fingers electric
Her touch power on your spine.
Light erupts; engulfed.
Gives to you herself
As open as dawn, bruised as a cloud.
She pours water on your parched soul.
Opens a spring
Says drink.
White dress marching
Hem brown from muddy boots;
Strap loose on fist raised arm
Wave in their face: No!
White dresses marching
Voices one
Not today
Not ever.
Your oppression
No match for my defiance
