AntiNote: The following poems were written in January and February 2026 by two of our very own editors here at Antidote Writers Collective.
The Angel of Collapse
(After, ‘I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies’ from “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying” by Noor Hindi)
I cried,
Everywhere I go crumbles
Every institution I work in declines,
Collapses,
Dies,,,,
The Church, academia, the government,
Every building I enter begins to rot
Everything I work on gets wiped, washed, withered away
Every hope I grasp onto disintegrates
And I have to wonder,
Am I the problem?
He asked me,
What if you were the Angel of Death?
What if you had that power?
Where, then, would you go?
I would stay in America.
Author’s note: This poem is based on a conversation I had the night of January 6, 2026. Renee Good was killed on January 7, 2026.
Honoring our Martyrs
Dear Refaat –
In 2023, two days after you were murdered, I read your poem to conclude a church sermon. In 2026, I realized how long ago you’d written it. It feels trite to thank you for your poetry when I know you were such an incredible teacher, friend, and family to so many. It also feels strange to thank you for your existence, or your legacy for that matter. Because honestly, though it took twelve years for that poem to become manifest, you probably lived every day knowing it could happen any day. You probably lived your last days knowing it could happen very soon.
I wish you and your family – and your neighbors, students, and friends – were still here. You probably knew it would happen this way, and it shouldn’t have happened this way, and I grieve that every day.
So all I want is to offer my gratitude. You modeled so well for us what it means to hold on to dignity, to fierce love, to a sense of goodness and humanity. That’s what your students say of you, anyway. I don’t mean to idealize your life, I’m sure you were flawed and made mistakes like everybody else. From my standpoint, though, knowing about the choices you made – to go home and stay home, to give your life to your people, to try your damnedest to liberate young minds and shine a light through the cracks you saw in the empire – I think you lived an incredibly honorable life, and one that made a deep and lasting impression on many.
I wrote this poem inspired by yours, but it felt incomplete, until I incorporated your poem into mine. It has been echoing in my head as I’ve been reflecting on everything happening here in Minneapolis, piercing through time and space over and over again. Halfway across the world and a couple years after you were murdered by the empire – here we are, they brought the war home.
So I dedicate this poem to you and your words, and I thank you for letting us have them and you in our hearts as we keep fighting. Glory to our martyrs!
A revolution is one that honors its martyrs
If I must die, / you must live / to tell my story / to sell my things1
“The Syrian revolution was sparked by children being tortured— ”
It came out of my mouth before I realized what I was implying—
We’d been talking about how bad it is and how much worse it could get, and,
how strong we’ve been
and
I said
the way has been paved for this moment.
It’s not like they weren’t already holding people hostage, or,
leaving them to languish in the desert, or,
sending them back to brutal conditions
after brutalizing them some more
for years before this
but
I’ll take it.
I’ll take the solidarity now.
When they’re at my doorstep, I want them to hear the whistles
I want them to hear honking and cursing and
I want them to be haunted for the rest of their sad, sorry lives,
I want my neighbors to fight for each other,
and we are.
to buy a piece of cloth / and some strings, / (make it white with a long tail) / so that a child, somewhere in Gaza / while looking heaven in the eye / awaiting his dad who left in a blaze— / and bid no one farewell / not even to his flesh / not even to himself—
A revolution that lasts is one that becomes a daily practice.
It is one that becomes widespread, normalized.
A revolution that lasts is always messy.
A revolution that lasts will have its martyrs.
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza / while looking heaven in the eye / … / sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above / and thinks for a moment an angel is there / bringing back love
When we claim the detained,
the deported,
the disappeared,
the tortured,
the neglected and
malnourished—
when we claim them as our own,
they are not forgotten.
Neglected by their captors, yes, but not by their people.
A revolution that lasts is one that cares for its neighbors,
and for its children,
oh, beloved children!
If I must die / let it bring hope / let it be a tale
A revolution that lasts is one that births a new world
that honors its martyrs
and knows how to live
to live
to live.
Featured image and other images in this post were taken by friends of the authors and the authors themselves. The ice sculptures pictured in the first two images were part of an annual mid-winter event in Minneapolis in which people are invited to ski or walk on a frozen lake and visit illuminated ice sculptures like those pictured. As depicted in the second image, this year the Luminary Loppet featured a memorial to Renee Good and Alex Pretti. The third image is a photo of the makeshift memorial set up on a snow bank at the site of Alex Pretti’s murder. The banner reads: REST IN POWER ALEX – ANY RIGHTEOUS PERSON WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME.
- All of the italicized lines in this poem are from Refaat Alareer’s 2011 poem If I Must Die, Let it Be a Tale. Some of the lines have been rearranged, repeated, and interspersed in a different order from the original poem, but all of the lines are present here. ↩︎
