Reflections On My Way Home

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




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.

Briseyda Barrientos-Ariza

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