Rage by Anne Leigh Parrish

we don’t know them before they rage

you think love identifies, or generosity, or

even the quality of sobs & tears when grief

holds sway

no

rage reveals the soul, concealed by

manners & convention, what we call social graces

abandoned for the machine gun &

confederate flag

even though the bearers smile

they seethe with hatred

the bitterness of their disenfranchisement

the loss of what . . . exactly?

free use of the n-word?

permission to slap their wives & children?

once men fought to lift people, not

to oppress them

but times have changed, or perhaps not

changed at all

ghosts of slave-owners & lynch mobs

occupy the living

think about it

soon you’ll feel rage, too

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Anne Leigh Parrish (she/her) lives in a forest in the South Sound Region of Washington State. Her fifth novel, a winter night, was just released by Unsolicited Press. Her debut poetry collection, the moon won’t be dared, arrives next October, also from Unsolicited Press. Twitter: @AnneLParrish