Excerpt from Audacity by Melanie Crowder, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

they will betray
their own. Eyes down,
hiding under such tattered
and filthy shmatas
as they walk past our picket line,
I almost pity them.

At ten o'clock
the boss calls in thugs
       —gorillas—
who throw us to the ground
with their meaty shoulders,
swinging fists
and kicking like street fighters.

I have no chance against the man
twice as tall
twice as wide
as me
crashing through the crowd
like a scythe
through slender shoots of wheat.

Before I know what has happened
my head smacks
against the pavement
a boot finds soft
tender spots
in my belly;
and I scream
through gritted teeth.


When they are gone,
we lift each other up
dust ourselves off
raise our signs high
sing our marching songs
until our hands stop shaking.

At eleven o'clock
the boss calls in the police
       —coppers—
to haul us away
to jail.

It is not the things they said
the bruise on my cheek filling with blood
the gash they opened at my temple
that sting most.
It is my view of the picket line
through the barred window of the police wagon
as we are driven away:
placards litter the street
abandoned
strikers scatter
running for home
running for safety.

I see
how feeble our brave moment is—
       how easily rattled
       we are.

       Is this our way?
       Is this what centuries
       of persecution
       have taught us—

       how to run?

locked up

I do not remember choosing
walls rimmed in filth
dank cells,
the concrete sweating
its misery.

When,
exactly,
did I choose
this?

brave

I stand at the bottom of the steps
leading up to our tenement,
gripping the rail,
one foot hovering
above the first step.

It was easier
to be brave
staring down those bullies
with their billy clubs.

My head throbs.
All I want is my bed

but when I finally
climb the stairs
to the second floor
what I get
is shouting.

       Clara!
Mama cries

reaching a hand
to cup
my battered face.

       We cannot afford a doctor,
           Papa says.
       How can you be
       so selfish?

       It is that strike,
           says Marcus.
       they were all arrested today.
       They are criminals.

           Papa says,
       I forbid you to go back there!

Nathan closes his schoolbook,
a finger holding his place,
eyes darting to Papa
and me
and back again.
A pink stain
creeps along Benjamin's neck
to the tips of his ears.

He does not turn
to look at me.

I press a hand
against my temple
and answer calmly
as I can.

       Just because they arrest us
       that does not mean
       we are criminals.
       What is criminal
       is how we are treated.

Excerpted from Audacity by Melanie Crowder. Copyright © 2015 by Melanie Crowder. Excerpted by permission of Philomel. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.