It is a wave that girds you now,
And its movement, swirling forward and up, then down,
Stirs the back of the throat,
The excess saliva, the churn of the stomach.
That is a normal sensation, a normal reaction
To what you witness.
Toting their weapons, the unidentifiables, no badges, no identification.
The ones who seem to take glee in horror.
To brandish your papers doesn't matter to them.
They are convinced of their righteousness.
....
You feel that movement again, don't you?
You feel it now in the -3 degrees of Minneapolis,
But it has moved before.
In January 1839 when biting cold lashed at legs and arms, armed guards
setting the pace to Oklahoma.
That movement surged in warmer months, too.
1921 in Logan County.
A struggle for work, for safety, for dignity, for something other than scrip.
And again in 1791 in Washington County.
In 1831 in Southhampton County.
In 1960 in Sharpville.
In 1982 in Lubin.
In 2019 in Santiago.
In 1989 in Dongcheng.
And through all of time.
Mostly unrecorded,
But witnessed by others on the wave,
Who were also sickened to the core.
....
An antidote?
Oh no, I'm sorry; none exists.
You must witness these things in
The timeline on which your life rests.
