Resistance

I’m tired

tired of hoping that a stream of bullets will sprout a conscience

tired of praying that a dying breath carries enough wind

to alter the course of history,

praying

That this country’s amnesia will wear off

That they will remember I have a name besides victim

I’m tired of the inevitable rigor mortis that spreads from root to stem

in an instant

the instant I see badge & gun

a flash that chills blood & bone

as my body labels itself a premature death

I am tired of seeing death in the mirror

of knowing my breath is no rush of wind

at best, a gasp grasping at resistance