photograph of one who stands different
(flash fiction challenge--the photograph reacted to is at Melissa's site, link below)
she’d like to talk
I think
she has things to say
and has invested in earth colors
and a visible presence
in a crowd
inside a city
who might keep her from talking?
well
she’s surrounded by black forms
hoods
perhaps hijabs like hers
(though hers is kindly brown)
and on the other side
black uniforms
of police
who also wear
visors hard to see through
and though we cannot see them
there must be weapons
somewhere
she has no actual platform
for her platform
there is a sign close by
she might be holding it
ironically
it says
SILENCE IS VIOLENCE
because
well
it is
silence is violence
if the silence is words
frightened
or (otherwise) brutalized
away from utterance
out of consideration
for fear of weaponry
arrest
and isolation
which would
once again
be silence
and this is a message
to the rest
that keeping silent
is through indifference
or only taciturn
approval
a kind of violence
in and of itself
we let it happen
let the wrong things happen
or keep
the right words
the protest words
the revealing words
get out
it’s like the leave to vote
and then
not bothering
infantilizing values
of democracy
her mouth is covered
I don’t know if
from cultural requirement
protection
from infection
or to illustrate her point
she is not tall
which is to say
everyone is taller
all around her
though she (or whoever)
holds the sign high
higher than everyone
to make her point
and maybe find
an invitation
to speak out
from up higher
sometime
she is not subjugated
yet
she’s there
she’s standing
and the sign is standing
not to mention
that the line
of her suit jacket
sends a message
of some fashion
something lined
through razored words
through silence
after all
the eyes are windows
clearly open
though the message
of a moment
might need more
some exchange
some blinking
we could get
from being there
but she needs to talk
everyone there
everyone here
needs to hear
and heed
what she has to say
the need is ours
outside the frame
to find her
and the source of words
and more
in principle
and action
to take away
C L Couch
(for) Melissa’s Flash Fiction Challenge #249
https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/2024/01/01/melissas-fandango-flash-fiction-challenge-249/
(tag #FFFC)
Photo by Priscilla Gyamfi on Unsplash
Chalk writing on the street near the George Floyd memorial in Minneapolis. "Together we will change the world."
(x = space)
x
x
Don’t Remove This Label
x
I don’t want to reason
Only secularly
But I look where I am
And listen
x
In a long room
Whose beauty is beneath
Because the skin and other features
Are so poorly cared for
x
Which is to say
It’s old and could be good
But isn’t good
x
The noise of the world
Breaks in from above
And neither rule
Nor rent
Is cared about
x
Outside is a cold and pleasant day
At least to see
I see too much
And need to invoke
The other senses so much more
x
Drivers misbehave outside
Sometimes pedestrians
Though the thing about the outside noise
Is that it moves on
x
And I know
There are fires
That burn acreage
In a wild and awful way
And those who fight these flames
Are often hurt
And much is lost
Famously
In fires
x
And there is war I do not understand
And thank you I don’t want to
I’m sorry
But a bomb
Blasting away everything I know
And cuts away at me
By foes’ intent
I would be crazed
In every way
And to know the agency was human
Without randomness
For an agenda
x
And I know that states are falling
While brave people
Stand against
The evil reasons
And the power that, created good,
Is now corrupted
And maybe has been
For a while
But in a den bares now
Its blooded teeth
Behind a guard
That operates somehow
To keep the good ones from approaching
x
And I say it thus
With distance
Not that local evil
Hasn’t worked its way
Maybe the world
Learning of democracy
Is ruled by princes
After all
x
I simply want a quiet day
And promise of another
I want boredom
To be my awful challenge
And in this way I’ll try
To address the rest
I really will
From here
And now
x
You may decide what I am or
Most of you
Ignore me
And why not
Ignoring what
We need
To keep our naïve brand
In place
Like the labels on the furnishings
We do not tear off
Even though I doubt
The wars
Should care
x
I care
Not about that
But decades into this
I care
You might care as well
And more than me
Knowing better what to protest
What to fight for
x
Not to mention
I would rather be
Which makes everything more difficult
With you
Attached
Rather than against you
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Thomas Dumortier on Unsplash
x
You and Me, Sister
There are all around us
Words, voices, noises all
That tell us how to live
What to buy
How to vote
How to understand the righteous way
To have our way
And somehow please the gods, made
Masks of self-will
And agenda
The presupposed mighty
Who believe this
Heavy understanding
As in labored, rasping breathing
Weighted with the chains of Ebenezer
Leaden steps to its own ruin of
The truth, the peace, the joy
Held captive in
The castle of the rich
Where it gets out as planned,
God is chained or
Does not exist
Whichever muttering in shadows works
For the next parched day
But there are shadows within shadows
Truth in chains
There are prophecies about antitheses
There are always prophecies
The magi before Herod
Nathan before David
Elijah and the attitude of Jezebel
Defeat of those who take and hold
For now
The gold crust of Earth
Annihilation of the profits (this kind,
please note)
In a pit and everything
That has propelled the wrong kind of
Dragon, not the jeweled interest bred in stories
But the beast, the pet, the ruler of rust
And melted riches
There are always prophecies
We need them
They stock our campaign
Give us words for songs
And dimensional conversation
To march us on the plain
Toward pointed everything
The real change that prophecy intrigues
The reason why the thing slouching
Toward Megiddo
Can be mocked, if not ignored
The devil’s own soft points
Paranoia, riled into defeat
We win
C L Couch
Image by Manuela Milani from Pixabay
Endure Oregon Protest
They are still in Oregon.
The protest goes and has
Closed in. A leader, Cliven
Bundy, was arrested.
“Cliven” could be a past-
participle word for
“Cleave” (I don’t know
that it was)—an odd word
cleave: on its own, it would
seem to mean to cut into
two, yet it is the word used
for bonding in marriage
talk. Maybe the ideas is
that in marrying we slice
ourselves off one plant
and in a cleaved (or cliven)
state are grafted to another.
From both parts, then, new
growth is hybrid-formed—
and was such unity made
made here? Since one last
leader was taken, it would
not seem so; disunity, like
bad harmony, sounds from
final voices that endured.
Not to say that protest by
occupying and with guns
is a better way, for it is not.
But someone should really
hear what they have to say—
I’m not partisan in this
for feeling for both sides.
I simply wish equality imbued.
Everyone should be heard.
Everybody gets a turn. Not
A game—but how we should
have it. All the same.
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