As we who strive and fight for rights
Speak up and out against others types,
Those who live in a time that’s passed
Are called outrated, outdated, and hated.
Discriminators fight each other—cold
Disgust for what the other’s values hold.
Do two wrongs in this case make a right?
Or’s this merely a retroactive fight?
Protesters insult the other party
Doing the the same which they wholeheartedly
Condemn, forbid, forbode, defensive mode—
A series of chess moves with uncrackable code!
Both sides resist, reality persists
Which’s better, formed words or fists in fists?
A land of open arms is changing now.
Cold, closed, crossed: our borders block the entry
Of ordinary bodies homeward bound,
Although their stories make it to their country.
Sarvin Haghighi kept from her own husband,
Kamal Fadlalla’s doctor-training stopped,
Nael Zaino reaching for his son’s hand—
Called nameless risks, and of their families robbed.
What must the children think of punished parents,
Made into questions strewn across the sea?
Where once were people, now just “where?” and “when?”,
And “who’s this judge?” and “will he set Dad free?”
Of us, too, ask: will freedom turn its back?
Or will our rules make hearts and minds abstract?
How is it that the clock has been reversed,
Back to a time of silence, fear, and plight?
Now bound by decisions most perverse,
The powerless deprived of human rights. Enclosed inside a fortress of male gaze, Trump grimly grants a global rule of gag.
All criticisms women might inveigh
Do little to preclude his privileged brags.
Though we may join in sisterhood for justice,
His “us” is plural him, not she or we.
The fight that will not end may now seem aimless,
But that power’s end is my own body.
And of that power, Trump, do not misuse,
For every woman keeps the right to choose.
—HM, SH, NT