protests

marching in the protest

chanting

our breaths and heartbeats in sync 

with each other

with our common cause 

flashback to five and a half decades ago 

i was twelve

marching in a very different sort of protest

with my school

carrying crudely made signs of poster board 

chanting 

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

each syllable and note

a taunt 

tearing at my heart

tearing at my gut

screaming and screeching 

lies

lies 

lies 

how i had prayed

during all these tormented tortuous years 

for those doors to close 

how i prayed for the end 

of the daily trauma 

caused by the sisters of mercy 

wielding their iron fists

slaps across faces

echoing through closed doors 

from way down the hall 

ganged up by nuns at the blackboard 

being made a spectacle

paralyzed in fear

as I struggled with a math problem 

then being laughed at

and ridiculed

as i meekly and weakly

arrived at the 

correct answer

clapping dusty chalkboard erasers

finding a brief escape 

in that cloudy white haze

on the schoolhouse steps 

i made sure those erasers were clean

each extra second at thoroughness 

translated into extra seconds

of peace and relief 

but eventually i had to go back in

because 

they had a temper

those nuns

each time they would threaten 

just wait until i get my irish up

the nuns said i was too young 

to have a nervous stomach 

my parents never connected the dots

their main concern was that i get 

religious instruction 

so that i could become a

submissive and unquestioning

christian soldier 

just like them 

and here i was

marching with my classmates

and the iron fisted sisters of mercy 

chanting 

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

save our schoo-oo-ool 

we need the edu-cay-ay-shun

while the insides of my stomach churned 

twisted in knots

to the cadence of each lie uttered

while trying hard to keep from choking

on the hypocrisy of those words

at least i was outside 

marching

away from the nuns’ yelling and slapping 

that would echo 

off the crucifix and saints

on the walls of the classroom

hypocrisy felt less uncomfortable 

than a nervous stomach

but the discomfort was still there

gnawing away at me

while i did not dare 

to confess 

that I waited in earnest

for that dark dungeon 

to close its doors for good

but i did not dare

to confess

because i was afraid 

i did not feel safe

and i never knew what it felt like 

to be safe

and here i am

decades later

marching for a cause 

so that all

could feel safe