by Fiona Page
The scars on your palms, evidence
Of a fight you didn’t win.
Red flowers rotting in the sun, evidence
Of a loved one, long gone.
Fifteen names, forgotten, evidence
Of how easy it is to look the other way.
Ten years, evidence
Of how quickly time slips into the past.
A locked birdcage, evidence
Of our trapped and restless souls.
Crossed silver sabers on the wall, evidence
Of our desire to survive.
My body in the dirt with yours, evidence.
I pick up those sabers for you, and for me, and for them.
Watch as his lifeblood spills across my victorious hands.
Watch as we come full circle
And we are free.