copies

forgive me this poem that needs to come out first.

this year, everything unfolds from that 27 inch square.

the dizzy onslaught, you say:

can I have one for my classroom?

can you send me the file for

my coworkers? my living room? my occupation? my book store? my daughter?

the strangers write to say: it is beautiful, I have struggled to say what you have said

for years

and thank you.

who writes an artist to say thank you??

and you tell me, you cry when you show it to your father

you are sending a copy to your friend in prison

and you put it on your front door, your mother says

granddaughter, I am so proud of your activism.

5,199 more copies than anything else I've ever drawn.

this is reaching in to every crevice, tugging up my yearnings,

seeping in all places. this thing, this movement thing.

I gaze at it some days, puzzled

fuck, rachel, you pulled it off.

this is-and this is for- stepping up.

I could have prepared years for this,

I could be so much more ready for this, for what I could say

or so much worse, rachel,

I imagine a big pile of them and I step up on top

and I am teetering at the meeting, breathing deep at family tables.

I am stepping down and hiding behind it and listening hard.

what is organizing for the cause

and what is

being a cocky fucking shit?

one of those lines only known by crossing

old friend says he knows I don't mean to, but I sound so condescending

how to make each assertion equally out of love

and how to calm my racing heart enough to sleep

I am starting the new year

peering backwards at this season,

no amount of love-speak can uncringe this earnest:

this, moving forward, is a different life.