shields of fury

Poem by Deeti Gupta

Do you see the fury in her eyes?
Blazing crimson embers radiate from her
As she stares down anyone
Who dares to look at her.

Do you see the warning in her eyes?
Like flashing lights,
Asking others to keep their distance.
One hand in her pocket –
Gripping a key between her fingers,
Ready to attack.

Do you see the fear in her eyes?
The anger attempts to mask it,
But her heart is pounding
As she thinks of all the sisters she lost
And hopes she never has any use
Of the can in her bag.

A smile of relief 
As she sets foot into the women’s compartment.
Amid blazing fires of women warring for seats,
You can see the love in her eyes
As she’s surrounded by her kind —
United by experiences, their lives intertwined.

The fires unite into a deeper shade of anger
As a man tries to step foot
And ruin the bubble of safety
That lasts all but an hour

Every day of their lives.

Do you see their eyes turn red —
In fury and warning and fear —
The second they step off the train?
Hands grasping for safety,
Eyes darting around 
Music pausing, fake phone calls starting.

Do you see as she puts on her jacket,
Covers herself up as she walks home?
The flame in her eyes
Makes them look away.
No blood was spilled —
But that’s just today.

Will they look past her anger tomorrow?
Notice the fear seeping through?
Will the keys and spray and countless videos work?
Or will the next story be hers?
The ground turns crimson from blood somewhere
As someone else’s facade is torn down,
While she remains safe.

For now.

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editor's note

Volume 09

clay | chlorophyll | crimson

Grass is green where you water it. LC’s words float along over Misch’s guitar. It’s a phrase that feels so obvious, and I’m sure those who tend to gardens know this more than most, but it seems to land more than before. The impact noticeable, memorable, echoing through my being. Perhaps we’re ingrained to think it’s greener elsewhere. This patch is the problem and not whether we’re watering it. The key is in the watering. How we go about this practice is what defines our patch of grass. No matter where we go, our patch is, perhaps, the same. Some attributes and characteristics have been changed but the essence is the same: Us.

Stepping into Volume 09 of imprint, marks our third year. I am learning that this patch of green that we have been tending to for the last several years will mould, shift, and sculpt. This depends on how we water it and allow it to take its own shape. It has already happened in wonderfully unexpected ways. There is only so much structure or shape we can predetermine. Beyond that, it will absorb what it needs and reject all that is unnecessary. And perhaps, in this practice, we are changed. Our grass is watered as we water that of our writing, our image making, our practice, our magazine.

From light to dark, rigid to supple, new to old, there is so much in between that is bright and vibrant and unexpected. The practice of our magazine has focused on being open to what we receive; being open to deeply listening to what is shared; being open to work taking us to new journeys. This volume, and this year, will be no different. We will continue tending to it as we have done, learning along the way, from past seasons and present ones.

And yet, I know it will be entirely different.
But still.
It will be watered.