Maisie Patterson (she/her)

step one, vote to protect your community

voting is not fireworks in the shape of an american flag
or a wiener dog stealing hot dogs off the grill 
 it is bowling with empty shampoo bottles
in an apartment with a broken sink and your best friends
it is sleeping on your grandmother’s creaking fold-out couch
her work badge buried in the closet under fifteen years worth of itchy blankets
it is watching pink lines appear sitting on a dorm bathroom floor
fingernails biting into the hand of a stranger you met on the way to brush your teeth
it is your tires kissing the driveway and you kissing someone who knows
the precise amount of milk you want poured in your cereal
and the pitter-patter of baby feet running running running to you
it is the sound of cicadas and the kind of breath
that makes your lungs stretch and your shoulder drop
it is two turtles sunbathing on a log  
it is my students and their torn shoes lined up on the museum floor
mouths open and bodies craned like a swan
telling them: this artist is from your neighborhood, see?
only time can stand between you and these white walls  

step two, participate in mutual aid

the bees are my sisters
and i feel the polar bear’s jutting bones
as if they are my own exposed ribs 
the bear keeps crawling over melting ice
and yet we walk to the bus stop and plant trees on our balcony
my roommates perpetually prepare me a meal i might eat
with enough time and therapy and avoiding glossy magazines
we dump six trashbags of clothes onto the living room floor
and sort until everyone is dressed in a way
that matches their soul and not the little letters on their id
we set up speakers in the backyard and
mix cheap vodka and six types of soda in one big vat
gather entrance fees to send to our community
that hides from suvs prowling through neighborhoods 
that tag and detain like they’re sending dogs to kennels
we call on one another hey lana hey jesse hey anna  

show up tomorrow. bring clothes. bring food. 

bring your arms, outstretched 
step three, advocate
we are repurposing our glitter pens and scrapbooking supplies
to make posters instead of love letters
demanding a world in which each of us
have a warm bed and a vote to cast 
a doctor’s stethoscope listening to the tick tick tick of our hearts
and a safe place for our children to make mud pies
we are shouting rally cries the poems written by our grandmothers
until our voices go hoarse and our feet go numb
the microphone hearing what was meant for whispers in the dead of night
we are knocking on office doors in big white buildings
full of the ghosts of men who spent their lives locking us out
we are standing in our practical shoes our heads overflowing with facts
asking for one person to hear the way this world has cut us raw
and to see our vision of a glistening future
all of us reaching 

reaching 

reaching