My neighbor’s sign, surrounded by little flags,
says, “Black Lives Matter.”
The parade planned few streets away
organized by the folks who live on that block —
decorated bicycles and a kazoo band —
is advertised by door hanger fliers
“Please join us, but you must wear a mask.”
Chairs are set up at six foot distance in the park
for the reading of Frederick Douglass,
“What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”
Birds of every kind are in the bushes,
butterflies, too. I hate to call them pollinators
as if they are only important
for what they do for us.
Squirrels are checking for leftovers
under the grill on the deck,
though the chipmunks
and the ground hog are still sleeping.
What I want to see by the dawn’s early light
on the front page of the newspaper
I pick up and bring to my morning coffee
(in the midst of pandemic a lot like
most mornings’ coffee) …
Reparations for peoples
of many indigenous nations,
more with Middle Passage descendants,
meaning returned to the Statue of Liberty
in a welcome to all who come,
a new national anthem,
and — yes, children of Marston Street
a mask on everyone.
This both gave me chills and brought tears of pain and hope to my eyes. Also, love your red white and blue. (:
Thanks on this silliness and yes, so many tears. This of all my years blogging here was the hardest to even frame a July 4 post, until I realized that was the only line of that patriotic song I even liked.
Happy 4 to you and Don ! Enjoy this beautiful day 😍
Sent from my iPhone
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thank you so much! And I hope you enjoy it as well.
A new national anthem indeed! And one easier to sing!
Yes, and that is only the beginning!
thank you Maren ~beautiful post
You are very welcome. I look forward to your words.