Anna Rugis

Guerilla

you enter the ravine like Che in Bolivia

each foot reaches for firmness
                       holds like
metal to magnet
           you move carefully on down
rest
                       listen
you smell the approach of cool shadow
as it crawls toward the rim

you’ve forgotten what you
used to believe in

as you go deeper
your sightlines close in

you find a niche between and rock and a tree trunk
and wedge yourself into it

in countless houses
on every continent and island
babies cry        for more of  less
you cry silently for the loss of it

tomorrow when the sun lifts the lid
on this box canyon
when the army arrives to celebrate their victory
you’ll watch them strap your straightened legs
to a makeshift gurney and carry you up
onto the plateau
where you’ll be watched
for signs of complicity

but you won’t stir
you’ll play possum
with the imprint of bark on your thigh
and granite on your shoulders