Sometimes, taking a break from the news and work,
I’ll spot the collected works of this or that poet
and, for a moment, have context for despair.
One might reasonably ask why any nonprofit, let alone a nonprofit lender, should dare to comment on politics. Isn’t that best left to pundits and politicians? In ordinary circumstances, I might agree—to a point. But these are not ordinary circumstances.
How lovely it would be to live in a nation where
poetry put down insurrections. Then I might bang out
this stanza and go sue a wolf for stealing the moon.
“Freedom is not a state; it is an act. It is not some enchanted garden perched high on a distant plateau where we can finally sit down and rest. Freedom is the continuous action we all must take, and each generation must do its part to create an even more fair, more just society.” – John Lewis
I try on a suit to look handsome for the moon
ask the mirror what I’ve gained and what I’ve lost.
I mourn the death of those yet to die,
seek an urn to hold the ashes of what might have been.
Here we reward the worst crimes with a cushy job
at a White Shoe law firm that does pro bono work
for the ACLU.
The only way to demonstrate your commitment to justice is to immediately sever all ties with Mr. Rosenstein, whose actions are diametrically opposed to the values you claim to espouse.
While the Enola Gay circled overhead, I gained weight,
and obsessed over coverage of its flight: Would we be spared,
or perish? What orders have been given, and who or
what will the pilot obey? We paid for the plane and…
We knew these would be hard years; at least we can laugh,
say I love you, watch for the flags at half-staff.
I want to touch what aches in us, the light
we guard to stay alive. My dear, come quick.
I hear a knock; I’m afraid. Is it you?
I dare to open and let hope come through.