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i meet anarchy on the sidewalk

Poetry, Prosper Hedges


inside me, there is something undone and redone

(like fresh sheets beckoning sleep)

when i see a cat loping between the bars of an iron fence.

not just suggesting, or proving, but being the truth:


that the things separating our hearths, 

and our grandmothers and our children, 

and the gender i was yesterday and will be whenever,

and how much i cried and how much i laughed the year my best friend's mom died,

and my grief for my friend's loss and my grief for my loss, 

and the child saying hello to their shadow on the steps of the library 

and the child looking for their mom among tents under bombardment,


outside and inside me, all of those things that absurdly try to take a stick and draw a line in the river

(the river of our hands yearning for each other across every space and every time)


those things like jails and borders and the impulse to surveil each other 

and the yearning for there to be just one answer and the fearful deference to authority


are undone by simply stepping through and over the myths that separate us.  


cause here's the actual thing:

just because they say we can’t come in

doesn’t mean it’s true.


 

Prosper Hedges (they/them) is an artist-activist from Atlanta who moved to Chicago in 2017. Ever-organizing for abortion access, reproductive justice, and the abolition of police, prisons, and militaries, their work is shaped by a fierce commitment to a more radical, loving, and freaky future. They write poetry, speculative fiction, essays, community-organizing op-eds, and zines*. They are also a Union Steward for the unionized workers of the National Network of Abortion Funds, a dedicated best friend to many, and a huge bitch. Prior to full-time abortion access work, they worked as a bartender, server, and sex worker for a decade, and are deeply committed to the essential magic of class solidarity. They love kissing, pink and purple, absurd purses, butter, tiny things, and moss. Prosper's laugh has penetrated sound and bullet-proof glass. Maybe that says something about how much militaries can do in the face of joyous people holding hands.

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