Again

4 June 2020

A match was lit with George Floyd’s last breath

Again the world shifted overnight

Again I look out at a new normal

Again I am faced with unanswerable questions

Perhaps the boredom of quarantine 

Provided just enough space

Forced people to watch, to see, to pay attention

The nation woke up

The streets swelled and overflowed

In the absence of leadership

Something will inevitably fill the void

Nature does not tolerate a vacuum

Compelled forward by inner knowing

Pulled back by the comfort of the status quo

I know this is a defining moment

I am confused by my own confusion

Silence means comfort

Silence means acceptance

Silence means compliance

Silence means complicity

I have never been known for my silence

Morning Run

31 May 2020

I took my white privilege for a run this morning

Alone, out along the country roads

Surrounded by sparrows and alfalfa 

To do some real thinking.

One foot in front of the other, 

Eyes open, gaze elsewhere, mind working overtime

I am always alone. 

I am never afraid.

I know I can think, undisturbed along the white line 

And no harm will come to me.

I feel ashamed, helpless, complicit.

Guilty for the color of my skin

Heartbroken for the communities of murdered Black people.

Devastated for their constant fear.

Furious that it just. keeps. happening.

Clay Pigeons

he tries to distract with the blue bird words

he tosses up like clay pigeons

to deflect our attention 

from the chaos, the rage, the reality

of his Great America.

Going Forward

We can long for the hugs of friends, the gathering to share a meal or a drink,

We can hope to jump into the car or on a flight to visit friends again soon

We can even be ready to go back to the office, to the doctor, to the DMV

But let us also remember the frantic, full schedules, the busyness and the pace

We suddenly have agency in how we will create life going forward

May we choose wisely, intentionally and with purpose 

Let us not pretend we want all things to go back to the way they were before

Let us not forget the parts of this time that have been revealing

Let us not pretend everything was great, good or even fine.

The Story

Day 73

What is the story we will tell of this time?

It is hard to look forward, through the blurriness of an uncertain future

tricky to look back around those pesky, rose colored glasses

So what is the story of now?

Our lack of perspective determines our responses

We cannot see the broader picture

Cannot feel the fault lines and do not know where the road branches or turns or ends

Can we claim it as a turning point,

Will we make it count?

Or will we wake up one day and carry on 

Believing it all to be a dream?

Wild West

Day 72

The ground beneath me undulates 

Details shift this way and that

Elusive answers remain just around the next set of data points

There is no solid place to rest

If I have antibodies, does that change anything?

Like the wild west, everyone plays by their own rules

Proclaiming personal freedoms and demanding service

American values flash bright and ugly

The internet provides a headline to confirm every possible opinion

What do we owe each other?

Decisions to be made every day

The girls begging to see friends

Desperate for connection

Slowly wilting before my eyes

When will it be too much?

Backpacks

Day 61

Backpacks hang, limp and empty by the door

My sister’s birthday is the only thing on the calendar

May is usually busier than December

Overflowing with events and celebrations

Gone before I know it, leaving me dizzy from the whirlwind.

I had been looking forward to this May

Able to notice the world turning toward warmth

Marking the growth of gardens and the filling out of trees

I had been looking forward to enjoying this slower unfolding of May.

Instead, I hear distant echoes of celebrations,

Like walking in to a banquet hall after a castle has turned into a museum

Looking past the descriptive plaques and peering out the windows 

Almost picturing the twinkling eyes, almost hearing the clinking of glasses

‘What was it like, when this world existed?’

There are eight days of school remaining

The mood is normally crackling with electricity, 

Excitement for the coming summer, sadness to say goodbye, 

promises to see you next year!

Now the air is flat, the normal effervescence gone, like a flute of bubbly left out overnight

This school year will end with a small, sad sigh

A Zoom wave goodbye

The sound of a chromebook lid closing

And no idea what comes next.