Movement by Cassandra Dallett

It’s more than love
ours,
some kind of worship.In bed we are safe
from bullets
splintering the wood fence outside.

In bed they cannot touch us.
Till we reach for devices
and information
when death seeps in.

The ugly roils our stomachs
we rock each other.

I scratch your afro
you scratch my bleach blonde
the dogs are tangled up with us too.

Out there it is all
heart breaking, breath taking news.

The all-lives-matter folks
consumed with fear of Sharia law
we hand them mirror
say look at this terrorist.

The good food in our belly sours
when we see children comforting parents
more parents mourning children.

Over and over they say
we should all have guns.

I don’t want a gun I’ll take my chances
with the sagging fences and wagging dogs.

When we go down
we can go down together
I’ll go down on you and you’ll go down on me
the place can burn while we’re drowning.

Somebody will post live video
while following Pokemon around
why track you
when you can do it for them.

Drones the size of bumble bees, honey
missiles aimed at our heads.

We have a well armed police force
who miss the smell of Bagdad
the power of boot on flesh
crush of bone under wheel.

Every day I buy time between you and jail cell
every night we spend what is bought together.

We can’t join marchers on freeway ramps
We are chained together in our own movement.

Scratching poem
and song from one another’s scalp
with a love more like worship.

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