It's Such a Shame
It’s Such a Hope
Three Lane Traffic; 1937; American; Harry Gottlieb; Published by WPA; Source: The Met
CEFR Level B2-C1
It’s such a shame that grandmas who as teenagers protested for the right to live fully are once again protesting for the same rights and more. They come in their walkers and wheelchairs. I keep waiting to see one with a sign that says “I’ve been here before.”
It’s such a shame that granddads who as young men sat down for the right to exist as human are once again protesting for the same rights and more. They come with their canes, leaning on younger arms. I keep waiting to see a sign that says “Stop going backwards.”
It’s such a shame that people who risked arrest and worse so that their children could live freely are once again protesting to protect humanity. They come limping, striding, upright, sagging. I keep waiting to see a sign that says, “I shouldn’t have to be here again.”
It’s such a shame that a generation’s hopes came inching closer, only to be brushed aside like dust from a tabletop. Progress came painful year by bloody fingernail by sleepless night. I keep waiting to see a sign that says, “Why did you let this happen?”
It’s such a shame that I, and maybe you, were taught that it didn’t matter. It’s not about us. Only troublemakers work for change and it’s best to ignore them (unless it’s “for Jesus,” then you better be out there, protesting the loudest).
It’s such a shame that I, and maybe you, were taught names for those who hoped, names barely said, as if the very word would contaminate our souls. Or perhaps spit with a sneer, as if scornful dismissal would ensure you were never them (but of course you love them “because of Jesus”).
It’s such a shame that I, and maybe you, wait for others to be brave before we protest, speak, advocate, stand, and sit for humanity’s hope.
It’s such a shame that a sticker or re-post or share is considered brave. For some it is. But is it for you? For me?
It’s such a shame that I, and maybe you, give in to the easier path and just don’t go because a morning of TV is more compelling than joining those who march for human thriving.
It’s such a shame.
It’s such a hope that grandmas who were raised to think hate is holy can learn to love their neighbor as themself. I hear them urging a change of heart and keep waiting to see one with a sign that says “I should have been here before.”
It’s such a hope that grandads who were told that to be a man is to refrain from being human can learn to feel their soul. I hear them lament what was stolen from them and keep waiting to see one with a sign that says “Don’t steal any more lives.”
It’s such a hope that those who were here before don’t give up, despite the seeming futility of their plea. I hear them declaring their right to freedom and keep waiting to see one with a sign that says “I will keep showing up for as long as it takes.”
It’s such a hope that a generation refuses to keep quiet, shouting for their hope to live. I hear them pleading for peaceful lives and keep waiting to see one with a sign that says “Don’t raise another generation to hate and fear.”
It’s such a hope that I, and also you, are able to learn that it does matter. It is about us. To be a troublemaker can be to work for good and only the fearful ignore them (unless it’s “for Jesus,” then they fight ugly).
It’s such a hope that I, and also you, are able to learn the names of those who hope, names to be spoken proudly, as if the very words bring life into our souls. Or perhaps said gently, as if respect could make up for others’ hurt (even when they say they don’t mean it “because of Jesus”).
It’s such a hope that I, and also you, can learn to speak when we have words to say. We can be brave, protest, speak, advocate, stand, and sit for humanity’s hope while others wait for another to be the first to act.
It’s such a hope that we can do more than buy a sticker, re-post, or share. We can speak, write, draw, and act for those for whom bravery comes at too great a cost.
It’s such a hope that I, and also you, can choose the harder path. Walking, joining, standing with those who march for human thriving.
It’s such a hope.
It’s such a shame that it’s such a hope.
These poems were written over the summer and autumn of 2024. From fading signs on brick walls to candy to a Christmas lament, the poems follow the seasons.
Table of Contents
Ghost Signs
Goldenrod
September
Labor Day
Florence Price
Du bist die Ruh 1
Du bist die Ruh 2
Black Squirrels
Fear
Horror
Halloween
Candy 1
Candy 2
Candy 3
How I Learned About Native Americans
Pumpkins
Advent
The Winter Solstice Is Oft Observed
What Is a Nativity Set?
Christmas Is Said to Be a Happy Time
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