In the growing dark we stood on the courthouse steps
with our candles lit and our voices soft and we sang,
Hold on, hold on, my dear ones, here comes the dawn.
And as we sang, someone read the names of those who died
in the custody of ICE or were killed by ICE. Tien Xuan Phan.
Isidro Perez. Johnny Noviello. Jesus Molina-Veya. We sang
and in the crowd someone raised high a sign with the name
of each person handwritten in silver. Heber Sanchaz Dominguez.
Victor Manuel Diaz. Parady La. With every silver name,
the notes stuck in my throat like coal, as if trapped there,
wedged with thick ache for each human, their families.
Luis Beltran Yanez-Cruz. Luis Gustavo Nune Cacéres.
Geraldo Lunas Campos. And every note that stuck wrestled
itself free to vibrate in the air with all other voices far and near
who were singing, Hold on, hold on. Nenko Stanev Gantchev.
Delvin Francisco Rodrigeuz. Fouad Saeed Abdulkadir.
My dear ones. Here comes the dawn. And the names went on.
And the names went on. And we sang. And we sang. Because
singing brings us closer, creates warmth and communion
where there was none. Because the dawn has not come.
Because these were daughters and mothers and brothers
and sons. Renee Nicole Good. Alex Pretti. Keith Porter.
We sang. We sang because they are more than names.
We sang. Through our tears. All together. We sang.
*Lyric and music by Heidi Wilson. For sheet music and audio, visit Heidi’s Patreon site.
