writing circle
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Untitled
by Gwendolen Grahl

They stare with native eyes of sore reject,
Their hair smooth, greasy stripes of red and black
Surround their faces, eyes of glassy green
Penetrate the dauntlessness I lack.

The dolphin, frigid in unyielding nets,
Collapsing, thrashing, edging towards its fate,
The fishers watch it die, then throw it back
Sinking slowly, lifeless, freedom came too late.

Swarming, threatening like bees they pin you down,
The sharp hooks of injustice grab you and drag you along,
How can they sing their song so loud each day
It drowns us out, our presence becomes wrong.

Strengthening each limb I walk alone,
Still they descend, their contact rough and coarse,
Twisted, bruised like clay, did they ever
Believe in such a feeling as remorse.



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