The Knock

a woman sits with her head folded across her arms
Why have I been so outwardly proud?
Didn’t I know this day would come?
Surely, I couldn’t have been this naïve.
Believing, I could peacefully be
Who I am.
For so many years
I sang.
I celebrated.
I advertised it all.
Candles lit.
Tables set.
Food prepared.
Traditions followed and embraced.
And to think I shared all of this.
I invited those who won’t speak up for me now.
The boxes have been checked.
Whispers of
“I support you.”
“We are here.”
But it is dark! I cannot see you.
It is loud! Your voices don’t carry.
Maybe it is best to lay low now.
I could make my faith small.
And my voice even smaller.
We could wrap ourselves in fear and shame until we are
Would that delay the knock I fear that comes?
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