terrypetersen

“Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For, indeed, that’s all who ever have.” 
Margaret Mead


Women’s March
From Caleb’s Point of View
 
My name is Caleb. I’m ten years old.
I wear a sign that says, 
I march for my sister,
and my mom didn’t make me do it.

Great-Grandma links 
her left arm into my right. She holds a cane 
and shuffles from one foot
to the other, an offbeat rhythm
reminding me of an old-fashioned scratched CD.

Dad helps Great-Grandma from the other side.
The kind crowd gives us plenty of room.
Great-Grandma’s parents died at Auschwitz.

Our family matriarch marches 
in silence. I am only a kid, yet
the pain of her story has leaked 
into our lives. I know its depths.
Mom rushes ahead with my sister.
 
A woman nods toward my sign.
"Perhaps your sister can become president
one day." Dad and I look at one another
with the same tight-lipped understanding.

When Mom runs my sister laughs
and kicks her legs as if she could control them.
Mom pauses and waits for us to catch up.

My sister tries to rise from her wheelchair,
her legs weak as dried kindling.

She squeals with delight and flaps her arms
when she sees us.  I don’t march for my sister
to become great. I march for my sister
to be accepted for who she is.



originally publishing in For A Better World 2017
illustration made from public domain images and cut paper

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