It does not start with tanks.
A book gone
from the shelves
a whisper in the teacher’s lounge:
not anymore
(curriculum reform).
Maybe don’t say her name
maybe don’t name the thing
maybe
don’t
say
anything.
I’ve lived this before
under another flag
where my existence
was Moharebeh
enmity against God
and my gender
a pre-existing condition.
[REDACTED] was imprisoned
for teaching Kurdish children
to say
I
am.
That’s all it takes for the lashes to become meritorious.
Here
they just call it
make great
call it
we first
call it
protecting children
from
themselves.
[REDACTED] thought
truth would save us
she didn’t make it
to the epilogue.
…a student
deported
funding
pulled from literature
a poem
removed from the standardized exam
for daring to say:
black
pronoun
genocide
even grief
(if grief doesn’t wear a uniform).
Listen—
they don’t need tanks
when we obey in advance
They just need
our scroll
our shrug
our silence
____
dressed as thoughts,
but I’m not here for that
I’ve seen what happens
when everyone thinks
they’ll be
the exception.
This isn’t
the end
this is
the question:
Can you still speak?
What will we name it
before it’s gone?
Who will we become
if we forget?
What will we risk
to remain a witness?
The page is still open
the breath is still yours
someone might lean on a verse
to find the way home.