Un-Holy Week, 2016


Good Friday, every day

On Tuesday of Holy Week,
travelers hurrying home
heard a blast in the airport in Brussels,
heard a subway station explode,
and 35, 31, 30-some people
will never hear anything
ever again.
(Nor will 120 people killed
just one week earlier
at high noon in a market in Mastaba,
in Yemen,
by fighter jets from a
Saudi-led, U.S.-supported coalition.)

On Holy Saturday,
at a soccer game in Iraq,
cheering stopped when the bomb exploded,
and 41 people will never cheer again.
(Nor will 21 people in Yemen,
where three more suicide bombers exploded
on Holy Saturday.)

On Easter Sunday
mothers and fathers and children played in sunshine,
rode on merry-go-rounds,
basked in springtime
in a public park in Lahore.
Then the bombs exploded.
70 dead, 300 wounded, still counting.

The world remains stuck on Good Friday,
mired in an eternity of blood and death,
a terrible calculus of despair.


From the tomb, three women speak

Angela Davis:

The intersectionality of struggles.
It’s not possible to create
radical consciousness
by focusing on a single issue.

Freedom is a constant struggle.

Nekima Levy-Pounds:

We’re here for justice.

We came to stand together.

We will not rest until we see
Justice for Jamar.

We’re not giving up.
We’re not stopping.
We will not be silenced.

Angela Davis:

There are moments when things come together …
new possibilities arrive.

See this promise
that has emerged in such powerful ways
for the first time since
the sixties and the seventies.

It’s very exciting to live during this era.

Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —


Easter Monday

And still the sun rises,
trees bud forth leaves,
birds sing,
and grass lies greening
beneath the frost.

And still we march
to city hall
and the courthouse
and the state capitol.
As we have for decades
in Selma, Montgomery, Jackson,
in Washington, Mexico City, Paris, Chicago, St. Paul.

And still we stand
in Tiananmen Square
in Tahrir Square
in the Place de la Bourse
vigils, candles, witness.

And still we speak
truth to power,
refusal to hatred,
peace to violence.

And still the sun rises,
the spring begins,
and some thing with feathers
for a foothold
in my soul.


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