六四

A poem.

You are not going to class, and your parents are worried.
You assure them: “All will be well, for I am still learning.
I read the dazibao each morning and night;
I study these ink-dripped characters, the work of my life.”

You are learning other things, too.
You are learning how to stop eating.
You are learning how to shave your head.
You are learning how to write your own will, aged nineteen.
You are learning just how angry the people of Beijing
are, as they march, too, and they cheer and shout and sing
in the spring-warmed streets.

You’re learning, also, how to build barricades
with cars and buses and trash.

You’re learning how to apply for a visa,
beg for a passport,
how to stay and fight
for a future unknown,
even when you could turn and go.

You are learning what your classmates
are truly made of, and it is courage.
And, finally, you are learning
what you, yourself,
are willing to give up
for the faith-dream of freedom.

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