Witnessing

They stand there
every Sunday morning
witnesses
in black—
Their signs
“Peace” “Justice”
giving them voice, giving me
pause.

To the tourists and the families going to church
And the grocery shoppers like me
They speak, in silence
yet shouting,
shouting that the wars
this country is fighting
might make no sense
and there are other choices—
perhaps we should think about that
at least until the light turns green.

They stand there
black clothes, white signs
stark in the spring sunshine, blue sky.

This week, the lawyers and the colonels
and the former vice president
still defend our government’s torture
and imprisonment without
trial, without
witnesses.
and, perhaps,
we should think about
that.

The light turns green, and I move on down the street
to put away my bananas and olives
to plant my geraniums, and
cry.

May, 2009