A storm of yellow signs struck Foothill Boulevard, attached to menacing
faces and determined eyes. Cross voices shouting “Yes on 8,” sent a chill
marching across my skin. A trembling fear made my heart fall, from irony
of a nearing Halloween and sheet less figures haunting the busy streets
of Rancho Cucamonga. Signs like freedom of speech, made me wonder
where my voice went. Signs of freedom of religion and bruised comments
like “Read a bible,” made me wonder why they felt God stopped loving me.
I wondered how it was for people who fought for interracial marriage.
Did it swarm their emotions and sting their hearts like a mob of angry wasps?
I wondered how it was for people who fought for civil rights.
Did it press against their ego like a stomping boot and compel their strength?
I wondered how it was for people who fought against religious persecution.
Did it drown their beliefs and suffocate their relationship with humanity?
I wondered, or perhaps there was no need to wonder at all as we protest
“No on 8,” fighting towards equality for all yesterday, tomorrow and today.
By Gina Duran-Salazar


