Unaccompanied Anthem
We live as we dream ... alone.
—Joseph Conrad, “Heart of Darkness”
I was not born to this
wariness. I came of age
as my kind do—armed with ache
and swathed in rectitude,
a rough carving
sluiced under a torrent
of disregard. Still, I did not
suffer unduly. Most often
I bore witness: I listened,
then took it back into a solitude
neither light nor rain
could reach. There I would sit
and rock myself warm.
I tell you this long past
the learning of it. I ate quickly,
dreamt little, read like a fiend—
not quite a shadow,
more than a smudge;
you begrudged me
even these tremulous
pleasures. I came to you
grinning with grief,
but if called upon
would not pause to lift up a fist—
the only one in the room
who raises her hand
when no one else speaks,
though the answer is obvious.
Rita Dove
