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My sister and I went to the Museum of Modern Art to see the new exhibition of murals by Diego Rivera. I wrote this poem based on one of them.
Rivera’s The Uprising
it’s her hand, not his
that stops the soldier’s blade
while with the other
she cradles her newborn child
who cries from the noise
the dead and wounded
cover the ground like fallen leaves
as a phalanx of armed men
in earthen brown
swing wooden rifle stocks
at the faces of the newly free
men in peasant caps and overalls
no weapons but their fists and hearts
stand shoulder to shoulder
under a sky red with waving flags
on ground red with spilled blood
she holds her crying child
with the hope of a new mother
and the desperation of the wall
against her back
she will not give in
she will not give in
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