Before the march

The prospect of the march doesn’t make me hopeful
not eager for catharsis
for righteous rage

It makes me knotted
like I felt in church
when they gave me things to say
whether or not I meant them

Church was a business of so much internal translation
coding the words coming from my mouth
into something my soul could read

I can’t show up and say someone else’s words

I can’t acquiesce to the idea that my own thoughts aren’t enough
Because this whole thing is about being enough
Everyone being enough

I don’t elicit a lot of anger from others
but when I do
it’s for not being sufficiently mad

I am not mad now
I am other things, mostly sad
for the disconnection of good people from one another

I am conscious that in rejecting racism and sexism and all the ism’s
in judging people, as Dr. King hoped for
by the content of their character
we have rejected the people who express the ism’s

But people are more than their thoughts

Carl Sandburg was right when he said
that the ugliest word is

So how do we keep safe the people genuinely threatened by the ism’s
racism, sexism, classism
outright hate

Without descending into hate ourselves
based on ideals and ideology
not skin or sex
but hate all the same

We are better than that

We have to be better than that

And now I know what my sign will say




About solveighanson

I'm a (late) thirtysomething Plant Breeding Ph.D. student, daughter / sister / auntie, vegetable fan, yogi, sometime cyclist, and enthusiastic if infrequent baker. I started this blog in the summer of 2010 to trace my recovery from a pelvic fracture sustained in a cycling accident. That healing process was truly transformative, and since then I seem to have written mostly about the transformations that have followed. And hence the title of the blog: Don't call me a butterfly, because I'm not done changing.
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4 Responses to Before the march

  1. Ruth Hanson says:

    Solveig, you have articulated the emotions I have been feeling but had not been able to put into words. Yesterday I was sad and fearful and anxious and confused—I do not want to hate, but felt myself falling into that trap. Thank your being a “light” in this darkness. Love, Mom >

  2. Solveig…Resonating like a good guitar strummed with a satisfying familiar chord over here too. Thanks for writing. You are beautiful!

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