Peace Is a Protest

Or: On Posting Instagram Stories of Kids and Flowers and Birds and Baking While the World Burns (or Is Being Burned)

The birds didn't watch the news today.
I can tell because they are singing
When they should be waddling down the street,
Wings crossly folded behind their backs,
Murmuring as they stare at the ground.

The birds are clearly fools, not like us—
We who know there is no usefulness 
In beauty, in music, in playing
Unless it serves some greater good thing,
Unless it has a place in the plan.

The birds don't sing to distract, belting
Toxic positivity anthems
To drown out the drone of modern life,
Any more than I sit and watch them
To present myself as neutral, safe.

The birds take sides, nesting again here
The year after the cats got their chicks,
The year after the storm downed their tree.
Voting for hope and the space for life
To begin again in peace, they sing.