Draw
The war never ended and somehow begins again.
—Natalie Diaz
Today we walk out to three
Thatcher squad cars, half
the department, a family
stopped, San Carlos
Reservation on the bumper.
Trump’s New Order,
the police have investigated,
everyone in a perp line
along the road of this one-
road town, even two kids
ten or less, who shift now
foot to foot, confused.
No ID, no stay here,
sabe? shouts the shortest
officer, a mini
John Wayne—we can all hear,
an entire college
across the street, students
Apache, Latino,
Black, White, phones out
like swords, our plan:
record. One cop sees us,
says something, his comrades
turn, for a long minute
we stand like this, face off,
our phones, purses, man
bags, textbooks used and torn,
their badges, military grade
body armor, assorted knobs
and sprays, flashing lights,
guns, the skin tingles
with current, winter wind
dry and cold. When they leave,
we cheer loud and proud.
It sounds like hope.