when they came for the apostrophes
its like someone took all the stars
turning the night sky flat black
we were left with isnt and wont
all our its were jumbled
and everyone lost all their possessions
we began to bury dashes in the backyard
lock semicolons in chests in the attic
stuff commas by the handfuls in our pockets
sometimes in the inky darkness of night
exclamation points hidden like knives
under our pillows
we held hands or spooned whispering
itll be alright
they wont win
they wont win
—P.L. Thomas
Selected Poetry 