They didn't carry a sign, Didn't chant or throw rocks. They just...showed up. Day after day. A duffel bag full of water, band-aids, homemade sandwiches, and mercy. The streets were on fire, The marching of boots, Cars on fire, Screaming, To be seen, To be heard. They moved through it all. Quiet. Steady. Patching wounds, Wrapping bruised arms in gauze, Handing a sandwich to a boy in riot gear, Hands trembling, Too young for this. Both sides tried to claim them. But they only smiled— And handed out flowers. Someone posted a photo online: “An angel in the ashes.” One called them a traitor. Another just asked how to help. The nights got cold, so did the news story, and the people themselves. But they were still there, sweeping glass from the curbs, tending to eyes burning from the gas. Or to those stricken with grief. They never chose a side... Only chose to show up. Again. And again. And AGAIN! A quiet reminder Of what we share When everything else falls apart.
