The Boy

By Raima Larter

The boy grasps the rope, swings out over the river whooping, lets go, splashes, laughs. The light is a misty green and it all seems a dream, a time that never was. 

The crowds march in subzero cold, breath freezing in nostrils, shoes squeaking on frozen snow as booted troops watch from the side. Their leader stands calm in his long coat, watching the children wave placards.

The boy’s childish scrawl infuriates the man in the long coat who hustles him into a waiting van. The boy wonders which world he belongs in: the river or the van?

The boy swings out again over the water, dripping from his earlier swim in the lazy river, wondering if this life is the dream or is it the one in the back of a dark van, squeezed between men he doesn’t know. Their bodies stink of fear. Their wrists bleed from tight handcuffs.

The people march. Some wear clerical collars, some robes. They hold up their hands in prayer, chanting. With God all things are possible, they say. God is with you, they promise.

The boy wants to believe. The boy also wants to cover his eyes, block out the world he is in, but he can’t move his hands. He is bound tightly, here among the prisoners. 

The boy wants to believe he is at the river, but he knows he is in the van. It is warmer in the van than it was outside. The boy is glad he still has his nice warm hat. At least he has his hat.

The people march in the street, a sea of humanity blowing whistles. The people shout at the invaders to leave their town, return their children, go back to where they came from, which surely must be hell, a place warmer than the one they march in.

The booted men watch as people surge and fill the streets. The man in the long coat stands, his hands hidden in pockets as the people blow their whistles. 

God is with you, the whistles shriek. God is with you. With God, you can do anything. 

Anything.

Anything.


Before moving to Colorado, Raima Larter was a chemistry professor who secretly wrote fiction and poetry and tucked it away in drawers. She has published four novels, a nonfiction book, and numerous short stories. She is Nonfiction Editor at Utopia Science Fiction. Read more at raimalarter.com.

Photo credit: Enoch Leung via a Creative Commons license.


A Note from Writers Resist
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Warning

By John L. Holgerson

                                            after the poem Warning by Leonard Cohen

If your neighbor disappears
Oh if your neighbor disappears

The Hispanic man from Venezuela
who helped you paint your house
or the young woman who babysat
your children while dressed proudly
in that rainbow-colored blouse

If your neighbor disappears
Oh if your neighbor disappears

Don’t ask what happened
to the multi-tatted Black man
who lived on your block
or the foreign college student 
with whom you liked to talk

Beware of the men wearing balaclavas
who cruise our streets each day
They have plans you can’t ignore
or else there’ll come a tapping,
rapping, pounding on your door

When your neighbor disappears
Oh when your neighbor disappears.


John L. Holgerson is the author of three books of poetry, Convictions of the Heart (In Case of Emergency Press 2021), Unnecessary Tattoo and Other Stains on a Stainless Steel Heart (Finishing Line Press 2016) and Broken Borders (Wasteland Press 2012). He has published poems in small literary journals, both in print and online. He is listed in the Poets & Writers’ Directory of Poets and Writers; is one of three MassPoetry representatives for Bristol County, Massachusetts; and is co-host of For the Love of Words, airing on Easton Community Access Television in North Easton, Massachusetts. The monthly program showcases performances of local, regional, national and international poets and musicians. For more than three decades, he was a criminal defense attorney with The Massachusetts Defenders Committee. Visit his website.

Photo credit: Prachatai via a Creative Commons license.


A Note from Writers Resist
Thank you for reading! If you appreciate creative resistance and would like to support it, you can make a small, medium or large donation to Writers Resist on our Give a Sawbuck page.