Allyson Strafella on Suzanne Bocanegra

Lines
standing side by side.
Rows arouse doubt,
—a search
for an exit.

Yet during the performance
in the poppy field,
the crowds stand tall, swaying slightly.
Each figure moves like a pendulum,
bowing to its forces.

The percussionists at the center
work in teams of two
to invent a sound accompaniment.

Moving through the mass
has not been an easy navigation.
But alas, I have found the way out.

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