by Sandra Anfang
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| “Hope and Justice” by David Garibaldi |
is not the thing with feathers bickering at the feeder
bullying the finches into flight
nor the Hallmark card, faded from decades of cliché
shoved in the back of the dollar store rack
Hope is not the white dove flying from the open hymnal
like a pop-up book, nor the blond god on
nana’s closet door smiling from his ruby throne.
It’s not the inscription on the hand-drawn
sign buried in roses at the site of the latest
black man’s murder by the men in blue
nor the Christian Covid patient emoting from
his ICU bed, hoarding oxygen and prayers
while millions of deniers chorus no,
we won’t go to vaccine clinics.
Hope is not the promised land behind
a child’s eyes when she mouths on bended knee
bless mommy and daddy and
all the creatures in the sea.
Is hope the force that pulls us from our beds
when the world seems to have given up?
Is it the hands that brew the coffee, steep the tea
debate existence with our feline friends
hands that kindle the ritual of another day
as if our time were endless here.
Sandra Anfang is a poet, editor, poetry teacher, and visual artist. She’s the author of Looking Glass Heart and Road Worrier (Finishing Line Press, 2016 and 2018) and Xylem Highway (Main Street Rag, 2019) and the founder of Rivertown Poets in Petaluma, CA. Since Covid overtook our lives, she alternates between binging on statistics and walking and writing to allay her fears.
