A Nation at the Brink
words by Pauline Tsui, art by Sana Friedman
The chill seeps into our bones. The heat is steady there.
Breath turns to smoke Air hums quietly through vents.
before it becomes words. Jackets come off, ties loosen.
Knuckles split in the dry air. Coffee steams.
Toes numb into strangers. Screens glow.
But the crowd keeps moving Windows do not open.
because leaving would hurt more. They sit still in luxury.
Anger keeps us warm Indifference keeps them warm.
when coats fail. Distance does the rest.
We stand where sirens Screens replay it muted.
haven’t fully faded yet. Red circles. Still frames.
Snow crusts over places Broadcast without feeling,
where blood never warms. the world watches.
The air learns new names. In offices far from here,
They pass from mouth to mouth names are edited out.
like something fragile, Sentences are shortened.
like something already gone. Softened into our fault.
Snow collects and prickles our hearts. Reports are twisted into charts.
On hair. On lashes. Language is refined
On shoulders already carrying into bullets,
too much. until responsibility disappears.
We are burning They are unmoved,
and freezing at the same time. and carefully protected,
fire in our mouths, in rooms that never feel winter,
We chant in frozen blocks. The heat stays on.
Because sorrow won’t stay inside. because fear comes in degrees.
Outside, people are shot. Inside, targets are assigned. Outside, lives end.
Outside, bodies fall. Inside, profit rises. Outside, silence follows.
Outside, grief walks beside us. Inside, grief is behind them. Outside, grief never leaves.
We shout because silence
Numbness is their insulation.
is how people disappear.
Calm is maintained.
Fire does not politely knock.
Ice does not rush to meet it.
We press.
They watch.
Progress lives somewhere in our wounds—
not in comfort,
not in patience mistaken for virtue,
not in watching suffering
through reinforced glass.
Fire meets ice
not in agreement
but in pressure.
In bodies refusing to thin.
In winter learning
how many it can take.
We are still outside.
Still burning.
Still freezing.
People burn for change
until their voices are raw and give out.
People freeze in place
until their fingers no longer answer them.
Inside, the lights stay on.
Inside, the heat never falters.
Inside, they watch coldly.
Beyond us,
the world watches
from a season that does not bite,
from a warmth that does not burn.
But heat does not vanish
because it is inconvenient.
Cold does not rule forever
because it feels controlled.
So we stay.
We gather.
We keep the fire alive
with shaking hands
and numbing feet.
Not because it is warm.
Not because it is cold.
But because it is what keeps us alive.
