poem
Volume 35, Number 3

Defiance Anthem

The infection is clear
a viral pandemic—
fear of unknown futures
rises like a Nazi anthem 
cries for hope against the darkness.

Killer that hits unseen
anxiety written in smiles, 
broad, thin, slanted, smirks, grins
masks to fool bad spirits.

Open words disguise closed hearts.
“The Hate You Give” is more than fiction

Word play in memory’s green hills,
labors to make sense of threats,
that lurk in the possible,
burned in by centuries of hurt.

Sickness that starts with slurs and lies
thrives on bitterness until the soul rots.
Ends with a parade of corpses.

“I can’t breathe” is more than a Black meme
it defiantly echoes throughout the globe.


—Vincent F. A. Golphin