[A bridge is curling
Above your body
Above the bodies
Of everyone gone
Between these hands]
- Asaf Avidan
They stood with guns out on the bridges, and all I can think is: it has been long since I had a hand in mine. The riot vans approach and I step back. Stories of being expelled from the country forever. Call it a life. Out of this body. Switzerland has the power to break a person absolutely.
There is someone : Lisa. She is not here so much for the protest, but for the hike. The protest does nothing, so what is anyone here for? She reads no news and lives in the summer cabin of her father in the summer when it’s warm while picking apples. She asks me questions with a certain curiosity that I have missed. I miss her as soon as we meet. I step in, I come closer, and fall a little deeper. She is part of the clown crew.
I don’t know what she is thinking when they are beating me. When the tear gas goes into my eyes. When I can’t get my contact lenses out. She is always smiling. She sees nothing. They are hitting me with their truncheons and I am continuing to go on, taking one breath at a time and I shake my head and there is she is, walking beside me, still, as I crawl, as everyone is crawling, or sprawled in the snow and all the snow has become red from our oceans that we bleed out. Donald Trump is there, he flies above us his helicopter convoy slurping caviar. We can hear his laughter from so high up, as he laughs at us ants,
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