Melt
the ice
Nobody knows
Just exactly what to do
With hands so small,
Full with signs and
plastic-printed whistles;
Poor armor when set
Against hard metal and
Hot
Bullets.
Our fear whispers:
“Stay inside, safe in
Darkened houses, wait
For danger to pass,
Surely someone is coming
To cry for reason,
To speak out
Against brutality,
Someone with the power
And knowledge of law
And order.”
But despite the horror,
In spite of the riot
Within our pounding hearts,
We step out
Into the streets
And it is freezing, but still
There is a warmth in our
Shared purpose.
We should be
At work,
At school,
Shopping for our
Families, but there are
People trapped by
Bars or threats, and so
We walk,
We stand,
We sing,
We share,
And in this we build
Something they cannot
Break: a blueprint
For others, an
Understanding for our fellows.
Because the world is watching,
Because they are coming,
But we are pretty good
At speaking Truth,
And together, we are more
Than they expected.
We surge, a wave
Warm enough
To melt
The ice.
About the Creator
Bex Jordan
They/She. Writer. Gardener. Cat-Lover. Nerd. Always looking up at the sky or down at the ground.
Profile photo by Román Anaya.
Bluesky: @umasabirah.bsky.social
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More stories from Bex Jordan and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (5)
This should be printed across every frontpage in newspapers across the USA. Painful and well penned. Congratulations Bex!
Yes indeed! Power in unity!! Congratulations on top story.
Congrats top story
That turn from “it is freezing” into “there is a warmth in our shared purpose” really stuck with me—I could feel that moment where fear is still there, but it stops being the loudest thing in the room. The image of small hands with plastic whistles facing hard metal felt painfully real, and yet the poem doesn’t stay in despair; it insists on movement, on voices, on bodies choosing to be seen anyway. By the time you get to “a blueprint for others,” it feels less like protest and more like inheritance. When you wrote this, were you thinking about a specific moment you witnessed, or did it come from a slower accumulation of watching and waiting?
While sad there’s the message of hope. Powerful poem