No Chalk

© Alexis Dykema

If we could just tell you, it would be easy.

If we could lay down these words like lines of chalk on the sidewalk

Most of us would.

But it isn’t easy, no matter who says it should be

They say bodies are ‘temples’,

So ours must be desecrated holy shrines of war-torn Jerusalem

A collection of altars that have been carved from blasphemy

By heretics of innocence

Our eyes have been blinded by shards of conflict

Our mouths sewn shut by threats so ingrained that

We would have no choice, if there was one, to speak

Remnants of broken homes where voices were raised higher than any flag

The accusations echoing for so long and so often that now we hear ourselves whispering,

“Worthless... useless… pointless… nothing.”

Voices that keep us more inconsistent than any house of bureaucrats

More secretive than any agency

And as terrified as prisoners of war,

Captured by those who question, “Geneva Convention?”

With sadistic glee, closing out the light.

Yes, we wish we could speak,

But there are no words that we could write with our tongues

No words to show you the scars,

Those decorating our skin

And those seeping deeper

Past flesh and bone,

Staining the fabric of the soul

We are the lost, mute creatures of an overlooking society

Alone because there is not even sanctuary in the chapel of our spirits

For those have long ago faltered

We have no protectors on the field of battle

And we cannot help ourselves in combat within our minds

Because we have no armor

We would paint you murals with our hearts if we could feel it

Please do not take our silence as a sign

Of indignation

If we could just tell you, it would be easy.

If we could lay down these words like lines of chalk on the sidewalk

Most of us would.

But it isn’t easy, no matter who says it should be.