Featured Image: Signs of Change: Social Movement Cultures, 1960s to Now
I ride the metro and it rides me.
I clutch the sign and it clutches me.
I wonder if it feels the words that emotions cannot describe? I feel them too.
Perhaps that is why we clutch each other.
I cannot decide which light is more blinding.
The one gleaming off the Metrorails or the glimmer of the silver lining?
I ride the metro and it just stares back at me.
Is this the same stare that the trooper and chopper gave me?
Who does not belong on this street?
I know it is not me.
Fed Triangle
Smithsonian
L’Enfant
I ride the metro and it — stops me.
It creeks a cry.
Did it feel the stomps above it?
Did it hear the chants — relentless?
Did it feel another bomb?
Did it hear another shot?
Did it soak another’s blood?
I ride the metro and it rides me.
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