by Aris Kain
for the demonstrators at UH’s Gaza Plaza - May 8, 2024
when campus cops found the grass
more worth protecting than our gathering—
To you,
who prayed at dawn and dared to be a witness
to our dollars unchained and sicced against us—
To you,
who kept me on my feet as the forearms
of an officer aimed to plant me backward—
I do not have your name,
do not know which classes you may have missed
or how many protests or parks or promises
we’ve shared under the same battle cry,
but I do know our resistance is stronger
than any brick or barricade
they could tear down and toss out.
I do know our commitment to principle
cannot be cut through—all of our knowing,
more solid ground than the tarp
they ripped from under our feet.
I know the link we made between our elbows
isn’t easily dismantled through distance
or intimidation or the power of endowments.
To you,
who found a stranger worth fighting alongside
for the families worth fighting for
from the machine worth fighting against—
I wish you anthems
sung on the steps of the popular university;
I wish you books
passed down and around and well overdue;
I wish you rain
that waters us more than it floods us;
I wish you freedom
that does not break the skin,
but if it does, I wish you a pressed hand
and gentle salve, if pressure is what comes
before healing.