When Lucille Clifton asks, “won’t you celebrate with me,” we answer yes. What does this Black woman decide when she finds no model for how to create her life? “what did i see but to be myself?” she responds. The poet fastens her hands and makes her life of “starshine and clay.” What does a boy from the staunchly-segregated south long to do before he dies? Jimmy Carter casts his ballot for Kamala Harris. Won’t you celebrate the 39th president with me?
Read MoreTogether, woven into a ragtag assembly, our eyes meet naturally and hold. Such sweet bedlam engulfs me for almost five hours. Not one raised voice, not even one—those leaving the tent and unable to get the vaccine nevertheless calmly detail the snafu and proudly show off their new appointment cards. No complaint, not one, from those in wheelchairs or dressed in shirtsleeves.
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The beauty of human hands. Hearing is believing. His fingers and voice in flight, guitarist Lindsey Buckingham vows that he’s “Never Going Back Again.” Hey now, enough, he reiterates, “been down one time / been down two time.” Haven’t we been down one time, now two times, too? Want to find out what it means to win? “Yeahhhhhhhh.” Stevie Nicks blends her voice with Buckingham’s. Yeah.
hints that springtime nears
democracy calls our names
as we swim birds sing