A Grief Observed -
November 3, 2004

Today

The sky darkens
The leaves fall
The wind chills

The warring rages
The hungry cry
The earth groans

The hope falters
The teardrop falls
The promise passes

The clock ticks

The signs droop
The commercials cease
The office closes

The children beckon
The laundry grows
The routine encroaches

The dormant seed
The fertile earth
The unfailing spirit

The chill subsides
The tree buds
The sun shines

Tomorrow

Litany for a Nation

One nation divided
Choose: blue or red
Where is the purple?

Remember us, O Lord;
make yourself known in this time of our pain,
and grant to us courage,
O King of the gods and Master of all dominion!

One people undefined
Choose: winner or loser
Where is the bridge?

Save us by your hand,
help us,
leave us not alone.

One leader elected
Choose: friend or foe
Where is the intermediary?

O God, whose wisdom is beyond compare
hear the voice of the despairing
and save us from the hands of ignoble.

One spirit alive
Choose: belief or no
Where is the faith?

Save us from our fear!
Save us from our fear!

Responses based on the (Apocryphal) Book of Esther, Chapter 13.

Today we witnessed
our first neighborhood drug bust.
 
Shame.
Partly of my own insensitivity
to the pain of my neighbors.
The array of official cars on the front lawn
propelled me to march to Subira´s
with an upbeat
"what´s going on?".
I didn´t
can´t
understand the danger the parade represents.
 
Shame.
My children assure me that drugs are ok,
you get them at the drug store.
I struggle to define the differences
that are illusive at best.
 
Shame.
The ´war on drugs´ was such a popular cause.
I guess we forgot that a war
by definition
kills innocent bystanders.
I don´t remember
how we planned to protect them
or justify their slaughter.
Did we?
 
Shame.
Drugs
legal and not
aren´t new to me or you.
I remember my childhood neighbor´s stash.
The drop ceiling provided the perfect storage space.
I knew the language, checked out the supplies.
And never felt threatened
except by possible parental intervention.
 
Shame.
My childhood played out
in a suburban
middle class
white
neighborhood.
We met Officer Friendly
and learned that the police were our friends;
they existed to help us find direction home.
 
Shame.
My head knows words about privilege.
My heart knows both shame and longing.
But there are so many chasms
yet to bridge.
And I fell into one
as I tromped across the street this morning.
 
Shame.
My neighbors
whom I pray will someday let me call them friends
live on the other side of the chasm.
They know that guns
mean death.
They know that officers
are not friendly.
They know that justice
fairness
even safety
visit black neighborhoods sporadicaly.
 
Shame.
Now the drug bust has a face:
Nikki
the sweetest of dear children
a babysitter of tender heart
Sunday´s spent singing with the choir.
Where is she now?
She was sound asleep
when the door burst open
shouting
rifles pointed
running feet.
Is she ok?
Will she ever be again?
 
Shame.
Explaining to my children
the anger of the neighbors
anger born of fear
of vulnerability
from generation unto generation.
 
Shame.
From the kindest of neighbors
gentle in spirit, faithful to the gospel
one errant member takes refuge
and the whole house
comes crumbling down.
 
Shame.
The rifles unloaded and put away.
Boxes of evidence carried out.
The offender no where to be seen.
The offended hiding within.
Jaunty officers smiling at the loot.
Neighbors left with searing
shame
born of fear
born of helplessness
from generation unto generation.
 
Shame.