Cam Whelr MD

Choose a date. A lunar event will suffice.
An equinox or solstice will do. Any moon phase
you please. An insignificant day works best.
Next Tuesday. Even today.
Today. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Write it down.
Begin in the bone.

Oust the hustle and grind of these least
bodies, exhaustion-driven, by colonialists'
powers. Their classism and castes.
Their urgent hustle and scurry. Shuck
their loads off your back. Wrench their boots
off your neck. Organ grinder's beasts, cease
fetching rich men's coins for mere dust and ash.

Refuse to perform for them.
Prepare. Rest up. Take a nap.

First, you must undupe your mind's ear
of all the tyrants' metaphors of war.
Uproot combat's weeds from your core.
They've choked you since the Before
before this violent Now.
Rip them out of your tongue one by one.

Yank pull the trigger from your mouth.
Hurry.

Extract all these:
	on the attack
	bring the fight
	merciless, relentless
	battle on, test your mettle.
Cease targeting and drawing a bead
		on anyone. On anything.
	Keep every being out of your sites.
			Your crosshairs.
			Your laser focus.
Never lower the hammer
	get triggered, unload.
Rest when you must, but don't
	pause to reload.
Release your need to maintain
	situational awareness, to keep a go bag
	near, to urge one another to jump in,
	rally, pile on, join the fight, soldier on,
	maneuver and scout.
Delete all these:
	the fog of war
	war on drugs, war on crime
	war on guns, all war on all things
	and war chests, waging warlike campaigns
	every battle cry, revolution, coup
	every back against the wall
	all the ways you get pinned down
	disappeared, overthrown
	or dodge a bullet or hunker down
No longer praise amazing success with,
	this is fire and you've blown up,
	she slayed, he killed, blow the roof off,
	you're the bomb and my mind's blown
	POW! WHOOP! BOOM!!
	Nor hail great fun with, Whatta blast!
Void them all and so much more.

For leverage, use a crowbar
	or a daisy stem.

If you must, hum:
	"Imagine"
	"All You Need Is Love"
	"Blowin' in the Wind"

Beat your word-swords
		into plowshares
Improve our soil.
Weave wider images.
Plant wiser seeds.
Speak our world into peace.
Spin together anew. Landscapes
	dripping with birdsong.
	We can all thrive under one sun
	attuning our ears to the quiet thrum,
			of every gentled skull
					still intact.

Cam Whelr MD is a dis/Abled pediatrician, poet, writer, and visual artist whose words appear in Pleiades, The Rumpus, Collaborature, and IceFloe Press among other journals and anthologies. She is a Best of The Net & Pushcart nominee whose works explore marginalization, trauma-forged and chronically ill embodiment. She forages a nourished and well-rooted creative life as a practicing A[r]tivist for The Res[t]istance from mid-Missouri where an affable service dog allows her to share her home. She can be found as @CamWhelr on IG, FB, and BSky, as well as Substack: Lucent Splinter.

This poem appears in Uprooted: Poems of Resistance, Witness, and Survival (The Chaos Section Poetry Project, Fall 2026). We’re sharing each poem from the collection individually over the coming weeks. You can read the full book or download the free PDF here.