CW: gun violence, murder
Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'
We're finally on our own
This summer I hear the drummin'
Four dead in Ohio
—“Ohio” (Neil Young)
On a snowy street—her street, her
Minneapolis street—an ICE storm,
armored and righteous as a playground
bully, tears apart the neighborhood.
She came to witness.
Renée is driving away.
Imagine Renée’s partner as one yelled,
spitting anger from behind his mask
like a spear. Imagine her partner pushing
the toy stuffed animals tighter to the wind-
shield—a mother’s instinct to preserve.
He pulls his gun.
Imagine, again, her partner, heart pump-
ing red energy to extremities, preparing
to run—imagine her screaming “Go!
Go! Get us out of here!” Renée turns
the steering wheel, stomps on the gas.
Drives away.
He shoots four times.
Renée drives away,
into a light pole.
They turn a doctor away.
An ambulance
can’t get close.
EMTs walk a block
to collect her body.
Imagine Renée’s partner—
still in the car.
It was always going to take one of us
(white, suburban, mother) to wake
the rest from slumber—yoked
as we are to hundreds of years of
white men’s lies.
He pulled his gun.
He shot four times.
Renée was driving away.
Poetry by Gale 