i remember when the act
of holding hands was

not because of the
threat of two hearts
meeting that might
one day tear each
other apart

but because being
seen meant
being beaten

i remember the
trembling and worry
the sideways glances
and shame that crept
crimson from my cheeks
to my ears when i
looked down, away
from the questioning stares

and now

though we know
the danger
has not passed

here we are
backs straight
hands clasped
eyes forward

it is something.