encampment

I learned the trees outside my windows

and the peeling leathery strips of paint

on the house next door

not white not blue not indigo, but all three

I said, everyday, to myself, quietly

what choice do we have?

If we don’t write, surely they will take away

something else they have given to us

your hands, your feet, your nightly dreams

Their position never changes

standing like soldiers around this small room

being sure I do my due diligence ~