Progress

What is progress?
fancy cars that drive themselves?
supercomputers that live in the palm of our hands?
content that sings and stops, blinks and beeps, frame by frame telling stories
tiny machines under skin that can read our body’s signals
that warn us before our heart goes, when vitals are too high or low
doctors and lawyers on tiny screens who can reach us day and night…
is this it?
somehow—
within all this—
we still hate,
kill,
harm,
maim,
those who look different, think different, exist different from us
we still stop women from making choices like men do
we still protect the rights of men above all else— the gender not the species
but only some of them
the ones that look and talk and vote right
when we need them;
somehow still
even though we’ve made so many steps “forward”
sending rocket ships to fly amongst the moon and stars
somehow, we’re still stuck in old patterns and stories of destruction and harm
somehow we’ve continued to look backwards, holding onto broken ideals in desperation
finger-pointing at the “other”,
when there is no other,
it’s just us.
Where’s the progress?