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.
