The Resistance

"If you are reading this, you are the resistance." -Aleksei A. Navalny, texting at the moment of his sentencing

My treasured friend, the artist
And costumier, midway through
Her eighth decade spent in two

Cultures, two languages, two
Halving-the-world traditions,
In neither of which she was

Wholly native, both of which
Claimed vast empires at her birth
That fought each other to death

As part of a global war
When she was a child stranded
Under bombs on the losing

Empire's side, having been born
On the winning empire's side,
Family left on both sides,

Said to me, not long ago,
That her acupuncturist,
Diagnosed as terminal

With cancer and determined,
As my friend put it, "to play"
With whatever time she had,

Had gotten "a little bit
Crazy" in their last session,
Reasoning out loud with my friend's

Aching hip, talking to it
Like a recalcitrant child,
Finally telling it, "Fine!

I'll leave you alone!" My friend
Turned on the table to ask
The woman just what she meant

By getting upset at her,
And was told, "It's just your leg
Has got so much resistance

I'm going to have to leave it
Alone." And then she left town,
To spend her remaining time

In this world with her cancer,
Camping with dog and partner,
Somewhere way up in the woods.

The anecdote was well told
With a wry smile, a chuckle,
And eyes wide with that true smile

That implicitly says yes,
There may be something to this
Nonsense, you know, resistance

Is something that is out there,
Even when it's coming out
In some invisible way,

Some crazy way out from you
That no one can verify.
Resistance demands respect.