The land and the startled faces there
And the shifting sands of the quivering
Dunes.
A mother touches the small face of her
Newborn and her love is the first chapter
Of many more to follow.
Children reach out to explore the
Vastness about them and their busy
Fingers touch sunlight and shadow,
The softness of a pet’s fur, how
Shapes become the words of
Themselves.
In what became the land of the
Free and brave, indigenous people
And slaves freed or not have known
The touch of flame and noose
Even as the words of piety
Fade into hate and venom.
Whole neighborhoods razed
By the torch, mothers’ cries
For their lost ones unwritten
On the careful books of
History.
The bullets spit their fire
Into the backs of the
Unwanted and knees
press with force against
Unprotected necks
Until all breath is gone.
So Many so many.
Hope and despair and anger
Seethe in such a world and
What is to be done.
Now the steps of marchers
Touch the blood bruised streets
And words shake free of old
Evasions enshrined in statuary
And a flag too long lofted
Above the intent believers.
Now is the time we say.
Now is the time.
Now.
