Poem: Shall I Stand?
Shall I stand
On my feet
Erect and perpendicular, an animated sculpture exposed to the wind and
The desecration of public scorn?
Shall I stand?
Shall I, stalk-like, yearn for the sky —
Or at least the ceiling, the plastered governor that dictates the limit
Of our aspirations?
Or — and this would be much easier, the path of least resistance as Dad would say
Assuredly, and with evident pride in having learned and known and lived an idea —
Or shall I sit
Upon my thighs
Folded inward like a mushy origami,
Protected in the middle from inquiring eyes and sneering judgment
Born of otherness?
Shall I sit?
Shall I play defense, warding off imagined attacks, stopping mean bombs
With my clothes?
Dad reminded us — among other things — that the best defense is a good offense.
And whether we understood (or not), at the time we believed him.
And we were thankful that he would stand for us.
I think I shall stand.
And should I teeter
Or fall from grace
He will catch me.