Standing in ragged rows, black coats drip,
hushed, beneath the drizzle.
One hundred or so strong,
we face East this morning,
toward Washington, D.C.,
three thousand miles away.
On the soggy grass of the Arcata Plaza,
an occasional green or yellow
umbrella blossoms open.
A woman holds a rainbow-colored sign,
“Grandmothers for Compassionate Community.”
Others wear banners across their chests—
“Love is Love is Love,”
“Celebrate Diversity.”
One bears a simple sign, “Imagine.”
News photographers try to capture
what is brewing here beneath the
prayers, protest, grief —
mouths drawn tight,
eyes shuttered —
silently resisting more than the cold.
This article appears in Wild 2017.