We know how to walk

We humans know how to walk. 
Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek, Seminole, Armenian, Yazidi, Sudanese, Jew, Palestinian, Tutsi, enslaved African.
Walking allows a few to survive 
And so many to fall, innocent and unarmed, 
Into shallow graves. 
What instinct makes an infant 
Decide to pull itself upright 
And attempt to balance on tiny feet?
Is it simply aping the people around it, 
Or something deeper, more instinctive,
Like how we smile without ever having seen a smile before
Or know our mothers smell even before we know we are alive?
Who taught us, when the indefensible happens,
To walk through streets with placards and flags?
There is power in walking away
And even greater power in running towards
Each other, collective in our plight
And gathered in our love. 
Not a romantic notion or act of possession
But love as labour;
The blood, the pain, the tearing flesh and muscular divarication 
The severance of birth
To bring life into the world
The naked infant covered in blood and slime
Squelching as it lands on its mothers stomach,
Her sweat mingling with its vernix
As she sighs in relief, warming the defenceless new life with her body
Even as she continues to bleed,
Even as she finishes the labour of birth. 
It is time for us to birth a new world 
To midwife each other – 
The most active verb of verbs – 
Instead of walking away and hoping 
We are one of the few who survive.