93
Without
Ever
Saying
Why
-‐-‐for
Rebecca
Jane
From
the
start
You
gave
up
the
straight
line
For
the
lightning
strike,
Riding
beside
me
through
all
those
lost
hours,
During
which
we
plotted
the
sincerest
farces
In
the
dark
before
spinning
into
the
whirls
Of
itinerant
impulse.
They
say
they’re
proud
Without
ever
saying
why—
What
it
is
that
makes
them
so.
Or
else
they
train
their
eyes
On
the
fire,
Not
the
birth
within
the
ashes.
I
try
to
etch
words
that
could
do
you
justice,
Try
to
describe
just
what
you
are:
From
giver
and
rebel
and
rabble-‐rouser
To
minder
of
moments
still
as
stone,
Shoulderer
of
the
stuck,
Unlucky
multitude,
Shedder
of
light,
Move
maker,
Shaker,
Rule
breaker,
Mother