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Posts Tagged ‘election’


 
I don’t know why we were fighting,
my brother and I, we were always fighting,
but he was already bigger than I, stronger, too,
so I did what I could and yanked hard
on a hank of his hair, twisting my fist
to increase the tension and cause him more pain.
He howled, and I delighted in his howl,
loving my cruelty, wanting to hurt him
as much as I felt he’d hurt me.
Even now, though I cannot recall
what he did or said, I remember the rise
of indignation, that hot flood of righteousness,
that cruel joy in feeling I was giving him back
what he deserved. Oh young version of me,
you would not believe me now when I tell you
you will both surrender your battling to forge
a fierce and loyal love. Not that you don’t disagree.
You are still so opposite in almost every way,
every way save one—your certainty
you can love each other through anything.
Through elections, through divorce,
through the death of a child, through the death
of your father, the loss of your hope.
You can love each other even when
you’re furious with each other,
when you both know the other is wrong.
Believe me, sweetheart,
the world only gets smaller.
The stakes only get higher. God, it’s messy,
so much worse than mean words,
so much more than pulled hair.
The story only gets larger.
We are all each other has.

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I imagine the small oval
is the center of a flower
that I link through black ink
to the life of my daughter
and her daughter and her daughter
and their bodies and their voices,
and their choices and their power;
it’s a pool I fill with hope,
it’s a note in a rising tune,
a pupil widening in the dark,
a moon that I make new.

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Marvel




On election night, Thanos grabs some popcorn.
Adds extra butter. Gets cozy in his sweatpants
and sits on his throne of stone. Feels no urge to snap.
He knows he need not do anything but watch
as humanity destroys itself with righteousness, with blame.
He chuckles as he follows the polls, the news.
How the humans cry. They shout. They attack.
What’s a villain to do but sit back and enjoy?
He sips Jack and Coke, keeps an eye on the cosmos.
If there is a song of peace rising in the hearts of some,
he doesn’t hear it beneath the scowling, the jeers.
But I hear peace swelling as if it is necessary, inevitable.
In fact, I am singing it, the way a star sings
hidden inside an apple. And I am not alone.

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Morning After

Again the chance to praise

the same room, the same floor,

the same view, the same tea,

the same image in the same mirror,

which today is startlingly not the same.

Again the chance to find the miracle

in the leaves that fall, the miracle

in the morning sun, the miracle

in the willows beside the pond.

Again, the chance to fall in love

with the same sky, the same field,

the same dirt, the same broken world.

Again, the chance to show up

with these same tired arms

and put them to work,

the same work as yesterday,

which is to learn to lift up,

to heal, to carry, to build,

to be in the world, to praise

the same room, the same floor,

the same view, the same tea.

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I am your daughter.

I have marched in your main street parades,

and in my yard I fly your flag.

I pledge allegiance and sing your anthem.

My uncle and grandfather fought in your wars.

My other grandfather came to your shores

as a young boy and stayed to raise your powerlines.

I climb your mountains and work your soil

and pick up trash on your highways.

I love you, America.

I vote in your polls and raise your children

and volunteer in your schools.

And because you are America,

I pay your taxes and call my senators

and protest in your streets.

I read your poets, relearn your history,

travel your back roads and cheer your teams.

You made me, America.

And I pray for you. And I pray in the way I choose to pray

because we can do that in America.

America, did we forget

our differences are what make us great?

Remember, America, the dream!

The wind is fierce today,

and I love the way it inspires the flag to wave into life.

Whatever is fierce around us is an invitation

to show up. Whatever is difficult

is a call to bring our best.

Whatever is uncertain is a chance

to be clearer in our thoughts, more generous in our speech.

America, it’s not a president

that makes our country great—

it’s us. How we treat each other.

How we meet our mistakes.

How we become the wind that raises the flag.

How our own hearts must be the home of the brave.

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And then there is
that moment after
the thrust and jostle
and sprint, after the longing
and righteousness, after the fever,
the furor, the fire, the conviction, when,
burnt out by our own
red ferocity, we see
there is nothing, nothing
to be done. There is
no defeat in this,
only release,
Then only
uncertainty is sound
enough to hold us up.
Then unknowingness is the only
place we can truly rest.

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