I talk to evil these days because
he feels like a bedfellow, a resident of my dreams
plunder in my eyes for the sunset, the heart
having no where to dig,
but beneath the ground for solace.
Before these days came, before,
when hope was allowed to leave our bodies—
I waited for you on the other side
with little in my hands, naïve I thought
that the hands could give little
and others would follow.
Now we stand irrespective of possessions
face to face with tyrants, all refugees looking for justice’s home.
Be it the howling residents of trees, the muezzins
of our towers calling people to prayer,
the humble congregations
voices of the heart ringing out and rising above the pain.
We now become each other, the shield, the weapon
that will defeat the evil determined to divide us.