by Debra Orben
A fierce wind blew, background music played,
the crowd flowed along Sellersville’s Main Street,
signs and banners streamed high and low
as young and old joined in the chant NO KINGS.
Conversations swirled around me, as I tried
to steady my handmade sign buffeted
by gusts of variable winds, changing rules
and alliances, an ongoing litany of losses.
Gone in a gale, diversity, equity, inclusion,
swept away in the squall, federal workers
who protected our health, welfare, and security,
anyone who dared mention The Gulf of Mexico.
We protested as one, the storm of cruel changes,
the orders of self-proclaimed kings and billionaires
proclamations cutting aid to the poor, new rules
attacking differences and our environment.
Grabbed by uncertainty, sensing the agony
of the poor, undocumented, unrecognized,
I no longer understand my country of birth
our supposed democracy of red, white, and blue.
Our flag appears fragile and tattered
as the federal government turns its back
on ordinary people, rules, laws, and precedents,
does an about-face on foreign policy.
But then I look around me, at banners
and signs, at wrinkled faces and bent backs,
at young mothers with children in tow,
at men and women who dare say no.
the crowd flowed along Sellersville’s Main Street,
signs and banners streamed high and low
as young and old joined in the chant NO KINGS.
Conversations swirled around me, as I tried
to steady my handmade sign buffeted
by gusts of variable winds, changing rules
and alliances, an ongoing litany of losses.
Gone in a gale, diversity, equity, inclusion,
swept away in the squall, federal workers
who protected our health, welfare, and security,
anyone who dared mention The Gulf of Mexico.
We protested as one, the storm of cruel changes,
the orders of self-proclaimed kings and billionaires
proclamations cutting aid to the poor, new rules
attacking differences and our environment.
Grabbed by uncertainty, sensing the agony
of the poor, undocumented, unrecognized,
I no longer understand my country of birth
our supposed democracy of red, white, and blue.
Our flag appears fragile and tattered
as the federal government turns its back
on ordinary people, rules, laws, and precedents,
does an about-face on foreign policy.
But then I look around me, at banners
and signs, at wrinkled faces and bent backs,
at young mothers with children in tow,
at men and women who dare say no.
Democracy is here, not only in this small town.
Look for it in schools, libraries, voting booths.
Listen for it in houses of worship,
messages to Congress, letters to the editor.
Look for it in schools, libraries, voting booths.
Listen for it in houses of worship,
messages to Congress, letters to the editor.
My sign printed on recycled cardboard
states Diversity, Honesty, Justice Matter.
Like me, keep holding your signs high.
It’s not all gone yet.
Debra Orben is a retired elementary teacher who cares deeply about the world we are leaving for our children. She is grateful to live in a beautiful part of Bucks County, PA and strive to protect the natural world that she is a part of. As a Quaker, she values truth, peace, and integrity. As an aspiring writer, she is mindful of the words she uses and grateful for the power of the words we share.
