Twenty-seven is the age of danger
For artists, musicians and singers
Thirty-seven (not too
young not too old) turns out to be
An even more perilous age
For those keeping their eye
Peeled to the sequence
And consequence of facts
Women and men who trust their organ of vision
Won’t let it be averted or lulled
Into necro-resignation
People who grasp why that stony Lady
Holds aloft a torch
As their execution ends up being that flame
Tell the truth but tell it slant
The observer observes all
In a season of brutality and ICE
That would rather vie for watery eyes
Than a camera obscura
A cone of light
Pointed twenty-four seven
On the stream of shadows
The breath of lies
The dastardly deeds
The strangling of aspiration
Praise be to the witness
And their truth-telling bodies
Whether slumped
To the ground or on steering wheels
By weaponized humans
Their last words of care mocked and unheeded
Praise be to the witness
Breathing life into an archive of pain
Tracing the lines of a map
Invisible to the panopticon of power
Carving future paths
To mark a way for our faltering steps.
Pina Piccolo, December 25, 2026 and later modified
Cover image: ICE Sigil created by Laura Tempest Zakroff at the Raven’s Wing Magical Co. in Portland, inspired by the first ICE protests which were taking place just a quarter mile from the shop.