Remembering the Underground

Not just below the radar,
they went beneath the surface.
Dug into the main streams,
hiding out in caves
like outlaws,
spelunking for truth
like sadhus.

The underground press—
The underground movements—
pushing, steady, disturbing
slowly, press … poke …
Bored yet?

Oh but water seeps in all directions:
filters into tributaries making
new caves, finding new openings—
as well as to the surface
to join with the runoff.

Let us be our own underground!
Creep in plain sight,
pressing firmly but gently
until the envelopes we push
start to stick

 Let us move blind
like grubs and moles
raising earth
in the night,
feeding from the root,
drinking at the river
of consciousness,
not letting anyone know
that we mean to survive
despite our lack of time
in the sun.

KL Robyn ©2013