Meital Yaniv organizes a three-part reading series with original works from 16 artists and writers, sharing vulnerability and strength while mirroring the present.
, do you feel the siren.
When you reach to the moon and your scream gets shattered into a million unspoken hopes. Do you look back, or do you look ahead. Do you dream in color? I do too, thank you for asking. I hold you in the street, your sign shadows me from the sun, can you imagine rising over and over again just for [the sake of] us. Constantly hiding from the moon to make the waves wash us clean. Swells of war, wash my blood, it is nasty, and it holds the names of all the warriors who died for the unborn. Protect everyone, I beg, we cry, I fly, we lay naked on the edge of your wall, drip, drip, drip, can you smell the red liquid pour. Recognizing enemies as family, aliens as allies, loved ones as shields. We show up, we wash up, we ride. Millions of people around the world just want to hold hands, imagine that. Your breath is the sorrow fragility we’ll overbuild with love. Can you make the bottom of my shattered glass overthrown the person acting like. Charge. Is a given rather than a quest. How many more will die, hide, climb, descend to the sky. Bury me with treasures or don’t bury me at all, cleaning the dirt from the distraction of your voice I will ask for a revolution everyone can see. Beyond the seas of lies and the lands of power there is a silent roar waiting to be unleashed. Me from the cage while sparkling my back with hits of joy, I can take it, I swear, just keep the extra sweat pouring from the cracks. Shake my head when I yell in your ear that vulnerability is our secret key. Digging wounded fingers looking for a shade of skin, cover me with warmth first and then suffocate the shedding tears. I will follow you anywhere I promised under a tree, the fire took you whole and your wish is my morning, rising with every decision to move a limb.
part one: Ali Kheradyar, Thinh Nguyen, Christine Cangelosi, laub, and Meital Yaniv