Tinder

March 25th, 1911
4:44

Triangle Shirtwaist factory

Eighth floor

We are tinder

one spark to set us all

alight.

Strike! Strike! Strike!

We stood and bled on the picket line

with hand lettered signs and no coats,

but we were tinder burst into flame

kept warm by our own words and

the hope that things would get better.

Now my union sisters and I

are trapped in this airless room

with a hundred needles skimming through white lawn.

Today is pay-day,

how much will we be fined for

speaking, stretching, looking out the window?

I want to say, “We are tinder!

Fight back, again, and maybe

this time,

this time we can win.”

But our union is finished,

and life is just as it was before:

locked doors, cut pay, dust in the air…

No. Not dust.

Smoke.