Poets Resist
Edited by Asante Keron Hamid
October 22, 2018
Cynthia X. Hua
Sunset
written in response to Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony
In the last scene of the movie,
a hand raised silently.
A list of names scrolled wordlessly
like the space between trees.
They’re beautiful like sheet music,
hand-sketched, unstruck chords,
the pale bodies of cedars
bathed in sunlight,
refracting
ordinary rainbows.
Behind them, a red
sun is dipping low.
These nights, I’m a matchstick
in a line-up of piano notes,
screaming at the TV.
I throw my voice box into the blaze
so somebody on the screen
will hear me.
This winter is silent like you wouldn’t believe.
Today, a tree fell in a forest,
while the whole world was watching.
Behind her, shadows collapsed
across the centuries, effigies
of a dream where the sky was falling.
Past the sunset, appears
another ordinary evening.
The theater lights come back up.
Clouds rise, restless paper bags,
and half the Earth gets up,
heads back to their cars,
back into the sharp air,
clutching their keys,
moving quickly,
through the chilly parking lots,
past the blue emergency phones,
back to the shape of
a woman walking home alone at night
inside all the eerie silences
where she can hear her own heartbeat.
Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.