I’ve been at the front lines of a variety of causes I care about over the years. Shown up to the barricades, to the prisons, to the chanting marches. I’ve carried bullhorns and banners. Held up signs and visited legislators’ offices. Sometimes I write about that. Sometimes I write about transplanting creamsicle colored day lilies from one spot in the yard to another. Sometimes I don’t care if those subjects are connected. I don’t care if they compete for my attention. For my articulations. I don’t care if I carry the carceral state to the dirt around the mailbox where the new lilies will go. Where the worms have been halved by my shovel as I pitch it into the ground.
But sometimes I do.