The Protester

A girl strode in front of a building,
hoisting a sign in the air.
What was written on the sign matters not,
what matters is that the girl was all alone,
deprived of the company of physical human beings.
But from her stance,
from the way she swung her hips,
and from the grim and powerful expression on her face,
you got the feeling that the people of the ages were behind her.
Imaginings of Puritans standing in song rose unbidden to your mind,
as well as those of hippies raucously chanting,
their faces bold,
their faces thrust into yours,
their eyes accusing, baring your very soul. 
The way she marched reminded you of the
ghost dance of natives from long ago
and not so far away.
She had the support of many. 

She was solid in herself,
solid in her defiance. 
 
She did not walk alone,
she was not silent in her seemingly solitary vigil,
she was silent because she was not alone.