i brushed the tips of her fingers amidst the PVC pipe as we sat linked together in lock-down.
our forearms stained blue from the paint and tar plastered to plastic, holding down the chicken-wire purposefully designed to make sawing us out more difficult.
water protectors chained together, risking arrest, the shackles a symbol that we were willing to trade our freedom to save planet earth from the 6th extinction.
sweat glued garments to skin as the sun baked down from the heavens. even if we failed today to throw a wrench in the works, still we rage against the machine, still we sing our refrain endlessly:
*the people gonna rise like the water. we're gonna face this crisis now. i hear the voice of my great granddaughter singing, "shut this pipeline down." it's bigger than a paycheck. it's bigger than a job. if you won't respect our Mother, we won't respect your laws.