What Does Such a Moment Ask?

What Does Such a Moment Ask?

What does such a moment 
ask of us?

Kindness―maybe―
but not the kind that cowers 
in a corner and will not articulate 
the jarring, rage-inducing, 
healing, liberating truth.

Love―maybe―
but not the kind that circles 
wagons, covers up injustice
and provides protection for abusers
to continue their abuse.

Humanity―maybe―
but not the kind invoked 
to excuse horrors as if 
they’re nothing but mistakes
that every human makes.

Peacemaking―maybe―
but not the kind that clutches 
to tranquility at any cost
and throws the rabble-rousers under buses
rather than make reparations.

Unity―maybe―
but not the kind that calls on 
the oppressed to bear the burdens of injustice
just a little longer, silently, 
lest they provoke unease in their oppressors.

Restoration―maybe―
but not the kind that minimizes 
damage done, that takes 
the easy route to placate 
but not satisfy demands for justice.

What does such a moment 
ask?

Perhaps the same things
God has always asked:

act justly―with the one 
who brings things done 
in secret into light;

love mercy―with the one
who hears the prayers 
of the oppressed and does not 
hesitate to take a side;

walk humbly―with the one 
who offers us the staff of Moses
when we need it, 
helping us to speak. 

Women, I Would Like to Call Forth

Women, I Would Like to Call Forth

Women, 
I would like to call forth
your holy anger.

Let it rattle the sidings 
of your churches―the ones 
that keep telling you to serve,
but do not serve you well.

Let it be no longer 
held constrained within your bones
in bonds unspoken, swept 
beneath the doormat to your soul―
the one they wanted you to be
as they kept telling you to sweep
and sweep.

Let it rise like yeast 
through sixty pounds of dough.

Let it boil and spill 
over the edges of respectability,
over the steaming rims 
of pots and pans
that do not hold you.

Let it fly forth until they can 
no longer put a cover on your head
like cloth over your face 
to stifle your unruly sounds.

Let there be words, so many 
words for every time they 
tried to shame you into silence.

Let there be tears, so many 
tears for every time they 
said they needed you to smile.

Let there be open confrontation,
exposed wounds for every time they 
turned to you, like Absalom, and said
don’t take this thing to heart―
for every time they wanted you to bow 
and place your fierce God-given power 
in their grasping hands.

Let there be squalls,
twenty-foot swells,
and Jesus in the boat 
who says with kindness,

you of little faith,
I made you for much more.

Won’t you turn and own the power 
I breathed into you.

Won’t you join me 
as I flip over the tables they 
have closed to you and 
make a whip and drive them out.

Yes,
with him,

women, 
I would like to call forth
your holy anger.

How Far We Were

How Far We Were

I did not know 
    how far we were 
        from one another

til 2020 blasted into light
    the light years that had always 
        been between us,

like a looking glass 
    intent on showing
        wrinkled scars 

where we expected to 
    see youth. 
        Sometimes 

I wish I did not know
    how much we do not hold 
        in common. 

Before, 
    when we were younger,
        and the world was, too,

we felt we could afford 
    to talk of high and lofty love
        as though it were a concept

academic and abstract. 
    It was a more naive
        and happy time when I

had no idea what shape 
    these thoughts would take
        incarnate in your hands.

Before,
    we could agree
        on pleasant-sounding thoughts

in inoffensive-sounding words,
    but this year’s traumas
        tipped our hands

and pushed us toward specifics.

Yet, it must be better, still,  
    to know, to see 
        which friendships

can survive these storms
    and which were always built 
        on something sinking.

It must be better, still, 
    to learn to speak
        the things we really think,

to learn to talk about
    the things we see 
        so differently―

and where we cannot talk, 
    perhaps to let our journeys drift,
        for now, apart.

We could not live forever, anyway,
    in blind denial of the things
        each other’s souls

truly believe.

It must be better to reveal,
    apocalyptic though 
        it may all feel,

and be.