Poem: "Choices"

There is a sadness in all this solitude.

Sitting with myself and the news

And the face of RBG staring back on my coffee mug.

A moment of silence, but not of peace.

Shared with you and with me

And with hundreds of thousands

Of those who have gone and will come again.

It is in the stillness I sit, thoughtfully,

Melancholy, pondering the meaning

Of losing my right to freedom,

Of losing my right of choice.

When I rise in the morning,

I choose my outfit, my makeup, and my breakfast.

When I rise with the sun,

I have the choice to decide my day,

The order of events, the things to accomplish.

I choose to work, to clean, to cook,

To shop and to write and to call my mother.

I actively seek what is right and what is good,

And I choose to love because I have the choice

Had the choice.

To them,

I am a wife, I am a mother.

I am a sister, I am a friend.

But I am also artist and listener

Learner and lover.

But I haven’t the choice of autonomy

I have my freedom and my rights and my dignity.

I have my life and well-being.

I have anxiety and stress,

My sleepless nights and my joyful days.

But should my body begin to change,

I have no choice over the thread of my being.

I have a choice to sit in silence,

Or raise hell as so many have done.

Are you listening to us?

Can you hear your wife? Mother?

Can you hear your sister? Friend?

Are you listening to the artist?

The listener, the learner, the lover?

Can you hear us? or have you taken our voice

As well as our choice?

Written by, Amy Harrison