february 2 2020 (eight years)

eight years

eight years

and you feel like


no time has passed at all,

like the world has ended and begun again,


like nothing will ever be as it was,

like everything is the same


eight years

eight years

and and as many questions


and am I still the same person but another gender,

or miles away from gender


and the world is being shaken and I am shaken

and everything is shaking like a tent,

these spirits

come and go, they

come and go


eight years and I know nothing

and feel it all


eight years

and I still remember the day we ran from the cops

and how they searched you

and my hands still curl into fists


eight years and now they call it diversity,

and they talk about inclusion,

and does anybody remember the day a thousand people were rounded up and caged,

and the cops said ‘you’re not in Canada anymore, this is g20 land’

but we were louder ‘this is turtle island, fuck the maple leaf’

and never flew that fucking flag again


and my body was bruised and I looked down at myself and did I see a woman,

and was it a woman who walked those streets and was it a woman’s face behind

the masked up me, and was it a woman who painted banners late into the night

and was it a woman in the streets was it a woman who argued for diversity of tactics,

what if it was me all along and do I even make sense now will I ever make sense again


and why can’t I leave it all alone and behind me

and just say I’m “confused”

and I’m sure I’ll get over it

and you can go on loving this baffled skin

and I’ll come to peace with it all


in eight years, eight years

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