Day 174: Choppers and Moonlight
I drove right into the moon, focused on her full figure
And I circle for late night downtown parking
“Thank you for being here” she says as soon as I walk up,
My hair still wet from the shower I was stepping out of at 10:20 p.m., when I
Decided, yes, I have to go there now.
We’ve been saying this.
You have to be ready. On a moment’s notice.
It’s a video of children, cuffed and taken “into custody”
That pushes me out the door.
Those are the criminals they told us they were going after.
The choppers are always now.
The brightness of their lights blaring down
Making sure we don’t cross the line
As we scream at DHS officers that everybody hates them
They disappoint their mothers
They are child traffickers
We can’t get inside. But we can see them through the bars. We can be the last voice they hear before they are disappeared.
Metropolitan Detention Center, Downtown Los Angeles, windows are tiny slits, lower rooftop covered in razor wire.
The choppers cannot compete with the moon
Our howls are too loud.
People arrive with water, snacks; a truckload of hot pupusas appears
Show me what community looks like.
This is what community looks like.
The only rage we are allowed is our voices, our signs
Don’t touch the vehicles!
If we touch the van, with government plates, the one still holding the tears and fear-sweat of
The Disappeared,
That’s when they’ll gas us, trample us, beat us
But, our voices are still free
Peaceful protest, we chant to remind the Enemy.
We still have a voice. And we’re giving it to the Disappeared.
I’ve seen countless videos of the horrors being inflicted on our community
Nothing prepared me for seeing it in real-time.
It’s different. In real-time.
I’m telling you, it’s different.
They are right there – in a parking garage, behind heavy metal bars
We can see them. But we can’t get to them.
They can see us, standing beneath the full moon light.
They can hear us, we hope. Above the sound of the choppers.
First, instructions: No diga nada, no firme nada.
Then, a message. How long will they wait to hear another human being, a real one, not a kidnapper or a trafficker, but humans on the street saying to them, just before they are pulled out of our sight
Estamos aquí con ustedes.
We are here with you.
And we will not forget.
Like the moon, we will keep coming back.