In times such as these, I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing or the right thing, but there is certain danger if I say nothing at all. I offer this poem as my attempt to stand with wobbly knees in truth that feels insufficient but true—my truth.
Bending Till Broke
If only I could . . .
Spin words into gauze to stop the bleeding
Make an antiseptic balm—call it Gilead
Mix an elixir that inoculates against hate
Call down a rhyme that heals black and blue
But I can’t . . .
No words, no balm, no elixir, no rhyme
Can’t stand my impotence, my fear
As I wrap myself in armor that protects
Me—disappearing you, the other
Safety for some, not for others
Lets me hide behind walls made for my kind
Created in monochrome—my birthright is white
The privilege of not looking
The presumption of naming without listening
Dr. King, the arc of history is too long
Bending, stretching on tenterhooks
Will it break? Who will be hurt?
Hearts beat and people march
Into the question without an answer
Crawl into the light, naked and unsure
Healing is not what I expect
Not scripted, sanitized or prescribed
Moving towards that which I seek to avoid
I am the patient—healing starts with me
July 15, 2016
Daily Bites and Blessings
Welcome to "Daily Bites and Blessings." Pull up a chair. I’ve set a place for you at the table. These edibles are sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet and often they are both. This is a come as you are party. I invite you to bring your compassion, courage, and curiosity as we dine together on life's bounty. May our time together give us more light and more love.