Why We Shout

A Year of Sonnets — 026/365

Photo by Morgan Basham on Unsplash

After Laurie Halse Anderson

The sun has set on civil speech, we tried
to speak with gentle clarity and grace
at no small cost of dignity. We cried
and bore our wounds for witnesses to trace
and prod with grubby fingers. See our blood! —
or not — ignore the psychic injuries,
the mourning garb, our innocence made mud.
We begged you not to crush our victories,
these little bubbles born of soap and tears.
We stand our ground here at the bitter end,
abandon now the silence and the fear.
Our deference meant nothing. Let us rend
this cruel complacency with thunder, rage,
that we may bring about a brighter age.

Follow along on the adventure.