Friday, June 29, 2018

The Underground, The Overground

I'm dreaming. This is what dreaming is right now, that even in your sleeping you are trying to figure out the things happening during the waking. I want to abstain from the news, I want to hide, I want to pretend that this doesn't really matter, I want to pretend that everything is fine, fine, fine, and

Bodies moving around in the dark, in the attic.


"They are here."

"Quiet, we know. Be still."

We lay plastered against the mattress listening to the banging throughout the house, hiding together. Fair weather friends, finding ourselves now being companions for months, hidden in the top of the house, hoping the hastily installed walls look solid. Dark compartment to prevent any light from getting out. We hold our breath, hushed as we hear boots on the stairs.

Will they be able to protect us this time.

Tossing and turning and wondering if this will be the fate of us who it seems the citizens are becoming more and more comfortable daily with the notion of eliminating.

Give us your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Give us your trans people, give us your colored people of all races but Caucasian, give us your queers, and your gays and your lesbians and your alternative folk, and your tattooed, and your dyed and your varying other human explorations of the concept of being alive. Give them to us and watch us burn them up, tied to the stake, this evenings entertainment. Give them to us, so we can be free of you, so we can create a better world, a smaller world, a world without colors and distractions and variety. A pretty cookie cutter world, of cookie cutter people, marching in lockstep and believing, thinking, doing the same thing. Give them to us. Feed us. Feed the machine.

Tossing and turning and wondering if this is where we are heading, if this is what will come to pass.

We are huddled together behind the secret wall, having hastily made a mess to cover a half eaten dinner delivered to us. Worried that the smell of food, when food is so hard to come buy and so unequally rationed, all of us sharing what little we have, so we can be hidden here and safe, in our modern underground railroad and wondering if we are safe enough.

"What if they have heat sensors-" hand over mouth quiets the talking as we listen to people on the other side of the wall. We stop breathing they and I. We are suffocating in our little room, unable to know if there will even be time to draw a last breath if we are discovered.

The world is claustrophobic and it is invading my dreams; in all of my dreams I'm hiding and hoping and hiding and hoping and I still don't know what I think the outcome might be.

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