Tiananmen

Tiananmen

It was six years later,
but it felt like I was at Tiananmen Square.

The “lone rebel,” facing down a tank,
standing up for the oppressed, that was me.

The tank was a white Toyota Camry.
Inside, not a communist soldier,

but my little sister.
They were taking her away.

They said she was “just a foster child” –
we had no right to contest her new placement.

But I tried. I stood in the driveway,
attempting to block the inevitable.

They drove her away and I still stood there,
certain a tank had just run over me.

The remainder of my family went inside
and I stood, still, on the pavement,

staring down the street,
waiting for her safe return.

I stood there for hours, staring into the street,
hoping that Fate would change her mind.

At 9, our mother told me to come inside;
what I was waiting for would never happen.

After all, this was not Tiananmen Square.
I was not the lone rebel.

The tanks stopped for him.