When Silence Marches Too (Poetry)

Hands Off Rally — Vancouver, WA — April 5, 2025

Open AI Image Generated by @ezrakidowski

Introduction

I didn’t bring a sign. I didn’t know what to write. But I knew I needed to be there.

On April 5, 2025, my husband and I joined thousands of others at Esther Short Park in Vancouver, Washington, for the Hands Off Rally — a protest for bodily autonomy, for the right to exist freely, safely, and fully.

I wrote about that here (pics included).

We didn’t come with slogans or speeches. We came with aching silence, searching for solidarity. What we found was more powerful than volume. It was presence. It was kindness. It was resistance stitched into small moments — moments I tried to capture in this poem.

What Signs Couldn’t Say

We didn’t come with much to prove — no megaphone, no practiced line. Just hearts that needed space to move, and silence aching for a sign.

The morning broke without a sound. We showed up early, found our place. No speeches yet, no roaring crowd — just sun and hope on every face.

My husband’s hand slipped into mine. We stood in rhythm, heart and feet. The breeze blew through the picket lines, and something stirred beneath the beat.

The signs were clever, some were raw. A dog wore red, his banner proud. One woman marched with quiet awe, another laughed a little loud.

“Orange Lies Matter” caught my eye — the joke, the truth, the way it burned. I laughed at first, then wondered why my breath grew sharp, my stomach turned.

She looked like kin I used to know. Her cardboard words were light, but deep. They made me pause. They made me glow. They stirred the part of me I keep.

A woman knelt to tie a shoe – not hers. A stranger’s, worn and wide. And in that small, familiar view, I saw what keeps the world alive.

And later still, the mountains gazed – Lawetlat’la in sunlight blazed. The air grew thin, our spirits high, as joy lit up the open sky.

We drove in hush back toward the hill, the afternoon grown soft and still. No signs to fold, no chants to save – just silence trailing what we gave.

Next time, we’ll bring a stronger voice, a thermos warm, a bolder choice. We’ll test the fonts, debate the tone, and craft our message all our own.

It isn’t just one march or cry, not just one sign held bold and high. It’s showing up when spirits fall – again, and then again, for all.

Summary / Reflection

I wrote this to remember. To remind myself that protest doesn’t always look like shouting. Sometimes, it’s a shared glance. A stranger’s hand. A dog in a red scarf.

This poem is a testament to those subtle acts of defiance and connection. It’s a reminder that even in our quietest moments, we are part of a larger chorus demanding change.

Author Ezra Kidowski with his husband Michael at the Hands Off Rally in Vancouver, WA.