Rachel Armes-McLaughlin

Small twigs on the pavement
look like so many tiny bones—
phalanges and miniature fibulae.

Underfoot, they roll, still fresh
enough that they do not crack.
There is a me-sized bowl in the

earth ahead near the creek—
a womb-like hollow that I
desperately long to crawl inside.

I keep going, keenly aware that
so many others walk with me
in collective grief, even if not here.

The old baseball field is nearly empty,
a lone crow yelling at vacant stands,
or maybe ghosts of those long gone.

The few leaves remaining shake
on limbs like pom-poms across
the track, sounding like distant applause,

the sentiment: “You’re almost there!”
Are we almost there? I am so tired.
Even so, it is a bright, crisp morning.

Birds sing. Leaves drift beautifully.
Are we almost there? I don’t think so.
But walk with me—

Even if you are not here.

Rachel Armes-McLaughlin has written poetry for nearly 25 years. Her work is published in Loblolly Press; Middle Mouse Press; Medicine and Meaning, where she has reviewed poetry; and a Central Arkansas Library System anthology, with one poem nominated for Best of the Net. Rachel lives in the very red state of Arkansas with her husband, Jack; daughter, Isabelle; and cats, Wednesday and Mera. She attended her first protest in early 2025 and is looking forward to soon attending another.

This poem appeared in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age — Summer 2025, published by The Chaos Section Poetry Project. We’ll be featuring each poem from the collection individually in the weeks ahead. You can read the full collection or download a free PDF of the chapbook here.