ART

by Cheryl Waitkevich

 

 

On Monday, February 16, Presidents’ Day, 22 professional dancers from the First Amendment Troop performed a 90-second contemporary dance, titled The ResistDance. 

Yesterday, high fog, a marine layer, so gray even the air itself
casts a pallor. This morning, though the sun shines, the weather report
forecasts snow flurries. Before sunrise I watched a video made by dancers

in front of what was once The Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts,
dancers dressed in maroon, the color of blood after it has met air.
The choreography starts with an unassuming woman in a knit cap,

jacket, old jeans like I might have worn when dropping my kid off
at school when I thought I’d just hurry home for a second cup of coffee.
She stands as some of the dancers surround her, make the shape

of a SUV while two other dancers as masked gunman approach,
and without guns shoot her chest and head until she falls
limp against the bodies that could never protect her.

The dancers dissolve and they're dancers again, surround
a thin tall, bearded man, slight bulge in his waistband. (Is it a gun?)
Pandemonium, confusion, paper and people swirling.

He helps someone falling after being pretend beaten
for which he is also pretend beaten, then shot multiple times

his body pummeled and shuddering as bullets hit

until finally, he lies still as dancers transform into angels
dancing with a couple of souls, these new-made spirits standing
hand-in-hand to look at the Washington Monument,

their reflection in the vast pond
in front of them present
for even God to see.

 

 

Cheryl Waitkevich (she, hers) spent forty years working in healthcare. Now retired, she is enrolled in the Rainier’s Writers Workshop, the MFA program at Pacific Lutheran University. She has been published in West Trestle Review, Galway Review, River Heron Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, as well as other journals and anthologies. She lives on Squaxin land, known now as Olympia, Washington with her husband Robert Jorgensen and their wildly delightful dog Ollie.  

IN THE PRESENCE OF PEACE

by Ron Shapiro

 

Photo by Ron Shapiro

On the Metro towards DC, I feel

a sense of excitement and anticipation,

a call for peace, an invitation to reflect,

to be mindful, to remember who we are.

 

Arriving at the Lincoln Memorial over

looking the Reflecting Pool, I notice

the always steadfast Washington Monument

while the Capitol seems smaller today.

 

From my history of anti-war protests

towards the government and its reckless

policies, I wanted to experience the antithesis

of such mass gatherings voiced with rage.

 

To witness people pausing their busy lives,

leaving behind their troubles and woes,

to assemble with the intention of offering

gratitude for these two dozen Tibetan monks

 

with a message of love, peace and kindness,

crossing borders of red and white states,

honoring this country’s dream of diversity,

equality and hope. Nothing magical about

 

their intention and effect on others. Just

like-minded people inhaling and exhaling

together in their presence, listening to words

of sacred communion uplifting the darkness

 

from this country and the world. Without

any mention of politics today, only signs of

peace, acceptance and kindness sauteed

with a joyful spirit reflected in smiles.

 

And rather than most everyone holding 

a phone, flowers grace their hands. 

though a large crowd, elbow-to-elbow,

thousands and thousands if I had to guess.

 

A stillness in the cool afternoon winter air

as the first monk appeared, walking barefoot,

smiling, his positive energy pulsating into

my chest. Was that a tear on my cheek?

 

Hands clasped, my fingers touching, offering

homage to their long journey of 2300 miles

over 15 weeks, rekindling a feeling of peace,

inviting the light of a new day into this land.

Ron Shapiro, an award-winning teacher, has published over 20 poems in publications including Nova Bards 24 & 25, Virginia Writers Project, The New Verse News, Poetry X Hunger, Minute Musings, Backchannels, Gezer Kibbutz Gallery, All Your Poems, Paper Cranes Literary Magazine, Zest of the Lemon and two chapbooks: Sacred Spaces, Wonderings and Understory, a collection of nature poetry.

FINDING HOPE

by Ron Shapiro

Festive.

Never in my life have I been to a march where everyone is smiling, singing along to the music, waving flags illuminating the space between elbow-to-elbow people of all ages.

Look to my left, women dancing. Look to my right, people hugging.

 

Is this the country I hear about on the news? Divided? Tribal?

 

None of that here. No way. No how.

 

Three mega-screens with the word Freedom surrounded with three stars on each side.

 

Above, wispy clouds and warm sun grace the day eventually evolving into a spectacular sunset of pink and orange clouds.

 

But right now, it’s a party! A celebration!

 

Good to be around so many like-minded folks. The vibe invites me to hope. 

Is that so bad?

You can’t tell me it is. No talking heads here. Just ordinary citizens being what this country could be.

 

Idealism bubbles up from the pessimism, cynicism, half empty, brokenness, anger, hatred and anything else in the raw sewage of lies and fascism.

 

Sitting now on the grass, I can only feel the deep bass shaking the earth and observe moving feet, bouncing bodies grooving with the music. I can’t help but smile. O’Jays “Love Train” rolling down the tracks of hope and love.

 

And if I look over my right shoulder, I can imagine the Washington Monument swaying a little.

 

The most alive I’ve felt during this election season. No news here; just joy of life, of being here now. Unplugged but plugged into the moment. Nowhere else I’d want to be.

 

This  place feels like a shelter from the political storm. Nothing to turn off or turn down here.

 

Just acceptance of how the country’s future could be if sanity, truth and love prevails. Nothing perfect but a baby step in the direction of King's "moral arc" of justice.

 

And should Harris win and repubs undermine some of her policy ideas, at least she will have elevated the English language.

 

Her speeches regularly use words such as hope, idealism, promise, opportunity, joy, rights, freedom, helping, raising, community, love, heroes, happiness, citizenship, compromise, love, new, forward, caring, trust, others, light and truth.

 

As someone who loves words, hearing and, yes, feeling those words at the rally yesterday emerged as one of the highlights for me. Being with 50,000 or so people immersed together in such positive language was deeply inspirational.

 

I think even Orwell would have savored the spirit of this uplifting moment.

 

And perhaps I sipped a bit too much of the celebratory kool-aid at the event.

 

But let me say that it was a delightfully sweet and tasty brew.

Ron Shapiro, an award-winning teacher, currently mentors college essay writing as well as teaches Memoir Writing through George Mason University. He has published writings in Nova Bards 23 & 24, Gatherings, Poets of the Promise, Poetry X Hunger, Minute Musings, Backchannels, Gezer Kibbutz Gallery, All Your Poems, Paper Cranes Literary Magazine and twochapbooks: Sacred Spaces and Wonderings. He lives with his wife and Shanti the Cat in Reston, Virginia.

THE DIMINISHING MONUMENT

by Daniel Patrick Roche

An ivory mockery of King erected
in the shadows of two slave owners
and the Great Emancipator.
Carved in a foreign land
erected with scab labor
it is a monument--
to Establishment ignorance
rather than to the man himself.

The misunderstanding of its subject
carved upon its walls.
"I was a drum major for justice,
peace and righteousness.”
And then later chipped away,
corrected, like a poor student
unwilling to parade his ignorance.

King died defending workplace dignity.
He is not memorialized by hard white rock
hewn from the earth by exploited peoples
working in unsafe working conditions
for substandard pay, if the pay ever comes.
His legacy is diminished by it.
Go, shutter the Mall.
Hide this porcelain disgrace
from the eyes of workers
furloughed during the pissing match
after five years of frozen wages.
Perhaps they will remember the man
when this graven image is out of sight.


Daniel Patrick Roche is a political organizer and writer living in Northern California. An alumnus of UC Berkeley, he has worked for Nevada for Change, Joe Sestak for Senate, and Diego Bernal for San Antonio City Council District 1.

NEWTOWN EPITAPH

by Alan Catlin

A circle of flags
lowered to
half-mast;

someone has been
killing our
children.

Alan Catlin has published numerous chapbooks and full-length books of poetry and prose, the latest of which, from Pygmy Forest Press, is Alien Nation.