Cardboard Sign

The edge of my hand
is smeared with colors from the markers

used to craft a message on a piece of cardboard,

using the back of an old desk calendar.

I look at the finished sign,

well aware that this is no work of art.

That the message is not clever and powerful, 

but rather, timid. Perhaps kind?

A child-like attempt at 

participating in an adult-world

that I have trouble understanding.

An effort to be for something

rather than always against.

Knowing that once finished, 

this sign would

be held with hesitancy,

by a person who rarely holds 

confident opinions (let alone protest signs).

A person who flees conflict.

Who does not like partisan labels.

Someone who is feeling confused

and often hopeless in today's world.

So why put myself out there?

I wrestled with the question, 

nearly talking myself out of going. 

Trying so hard to figure out the why.

The value. The point.

Really, what difference can a handful of people,

standing on the side of the road

in pretty much the middle of nowhere,

possibly make in the big scheme of things?

Is this only adding to the anger

and division?

It was only afterwards,

glimpsing the sign in the backseat of my car

that it came to me.

So quietly I almost missed it.

Ripples.

That's all.

That's the why.

Ripples.

Emanating from a stone

after it hits the water.

A stone, chosen carefully.

For me, small and smooth. 

(Not a stone you

would pick up if you were intending 

to cause pain.)

The kerplunk it makes 

is tiny. 

You have to listen carefully

to even hear it.

But then, almost immediately,

it becomes the center of an outward expansion.

Rapidly multiplying and growing before my eyes.

Telling me over and over, 

as the waves move from the center,

the why.

(Do you also see it?

Yes, yes, it might look different for you,

but it's there.)

I still don't know how to convey that message 

in words scrawled on a cardboard sign.

But now I'm glad I at least tried.