ANAÏS PETERSON
on march 16th there was silence, on march 17th they said nothing, on march 18th i wondered if they even knew people had died. –
in the loud place no one is screaming – i do scream and no one stares. no heads turn, no one comes running, no one even has the dignity to tell me to shut the fuck up, they do not wince when the earsplitting sob of someone mourning without arms to fall into pierces their comfort. i let my heart break with the cacophony of a tree falling in the forest. in the loud place, i do not just let grief tear through me but i perform it, and somewhere between performative and vengeful and mourning and furious is justified; the copper taste of blood on my tongue mixing with the red threatening to overtake my vision, i will kill myself for them to see the dead but they stay silent. my tears leave a glimmering echo of violence; invisible streaks on invisible cheeks. in the loud place; i scream and i hope i am held. but still, they do not come running. instead, it bounces back to me and all i have to find solace in is my own grief. maybe it is better this way. at least i hear someone screaming too. and someone hears me.
anaïs peterson (no pronouns) is a climate justice organizer, mixed blessing, and lover of the sky. anaïs writes in black pen and garamond size 11 and tweets from @anais_pgh. anaïs’ chapbook, “for the joy of it” was published with sundress publications in 2022 and is available on anaïs’ website – you can find a full list of anaïs’ publications and more information at: anaispeterson.weebly.com.