To you who locked our arms at the standoff

by Aris Kian

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.