by Marie Sheppard Williams


I talked to a young woman

last night who does the same job

I used to do.  She spoke

with tears in her eyes.  I can’t

do anything, she said.  It’s all

so hopeless.  There is nothing

I can do to help.


                You can care,

I said.  You can listen.

You can smile.  You can hold

their hands.  That’s

a lot.  And then you can

go out and march in rallies.

Carry placards.  Look ridiculous.

Maybe get drunk.  I did.