Thursday, March 28, 2013
The parade is over now.
Bright flags furled. Songs faded. Signs tossed aside.
We marched right up to the seat of power
Up to the pillars. Domes gleaming in the morning sun.
Pressing forward with demands for justice
against an ancient insistence.
Thrilling with our own power in what feels like triumph.
Now the marchers have gone home
Back to families, back to business.
The route still strewn with debris
to be picked up by the guys in orange jumpsuits
less passionate about their work than we were
leaving behind wind-blown palms and paper cups
drying now back to dust.
Only a few stragglers remain
Undecided as the hours pass
Until a biological imperative insists on a choice: eat!
Accepting an invitation the stragglers gather,
Grain from the earth, fruit of the vine; bread broken and shared.
And it still feels like triumph up to that very moment when
the powers that be – defending privilege in the name of tradition –
fight back, swords drawn.
And we, who are called to respond to such force
with hearts and hopes. What of us?
The moment demands a decision:
Defy them; deny him. Follow him. Crucify him.
But it has been a long, long journey
and it’s time to get some rest.
No more miles before we sleep.
Let tomorrow bring what it will.
Still, we will remember this night
and what it demands of us. Still.