Status Updates From Motherfield: Poems & Belaru...

“When I tell it in English,
I want to pretend that I am you,
That I don’t have that painful experience

Of constant protesting and constant failing,
That nasty feeling of frustration and dismay.
I want to pretend that I have a hope,
Because when I tell it in Belarusian
I realize, we all realize, there is none.”

“I have been handed down a trust fund
of fear—
a family heirloom,
passed
generation to generation,
our round family stone,
stolen
from the landlord’s field.”

“I feel safe inside the body of a crowd. I’ve never heard of any cases of pickpocketing or violence between the demonstrators. People distribute bottles of water and food. You can easily be caught by policemen on your way to the rally or after it, when the protest body is weak. But inside of it, the masked men won’t touch us.”