Look through the crack
and you can see her,
a small brown bird-
nothing fancy – with an
insignificant chip
to make herself known.
Or perhaps you will see
the eye of a rail,
hiding in the rushes
or hear the whinny of a sora
out in the wetlands,
letting you know
she is there –
but shyly.
She does not have the glamour
of daily bombast –
simply the effervescence of
doing right,
being true,
being there when
there is the only place to be.
And if someday the tread of swords
lies beneath the plowshares
you will know she has been here-
because as surely as the day
follows the night and
the people have dreams on
freedom’s highway,
She – my sister
and your sister too-
she is there she is there!
And we will miss her, yes,
that is true. But-
there she is
in the crack of history.
RIP Heather Heyer
8/14/2017
Anne's mediocre poetry 