(no subject)

[apiphile]

something is coming but i am not going

I think about the Jews who left Germany sometimes,
the ones who left and made great works from their lives;
who were doctors who went on doctoring;
who were children who grew up to be heroes;
who were poets and painters, printers and parents;
who didn't die, at least, in Germany.

I think about the queers who left Berlin too,
perhaps a little more often, since we are the same;
who got out while the getting was good;
who got American or got Australian;
who got famous or married or both;
who didn't die, at least, in Berlin.

I don't think about the cripples who left,
because they couldn't
and they didn't
and they died.

My friends dream of the Jews who stayed,
and took up arms and went to the woods;
who fought like demons or worse, like people unafraid of death;
who fought until there was no fight left;
who fought until they were finished;
who didn't die, at least, inside.

My friends tell each other of the queers who organised,
and linked arms and hearts in the wilderness;
who fought in disguise as family men;
who fought in disguise as unmarried women;
who fought for a country that wouldn't fight for them;
who went back to jail when the fighting was done.

My friends even talk about the cripples who died
fighting to the last
because that was the only option
that they had.

And now the water is rising,
And the gallows are setting up,
And now the papers are saying,
Enough of your sort is enough.

And soon the poor will be drowning,
And soon the judges will hang,
And soon they will have their day,
These men with their great plans.

I don't think I will make a great work of my life
I cannot link anyone's arms with mine
And I am too naked now to hide;
we don't talk about the ones
who sat and waited
for it all to end.