Since the election, like many, I’ve had numerous conversations with family members, friends and acquaintances, ranging in ages from 14 to 92. I have friends who are Democrats and friends who are Republicans. Despite their differences, they’re equally astonished at the outcome of the election. And who isn’t? But I have also felt the weight of their pessimism, which for some may become paralyzing. People need time to adjust, to protest, and to reflect on how we got to where we are. But I’ve been troubled by the despair, which can become a barrier to action. So I wrote this poem, or more honestly, it emerged from some surprising place within, about some changes that I’ve been through and that I’ve been witness to. It’s my reaffirmation of the rocky, uneven and unpredictable pathways that take us to higher ground if we’re willing to stay on the road.
After the Rules Changed
I came of age in 1976,
I was middle class, but felt pretty rich.
I never made my bed,
I rarely set the table.
Those were house rules,
Although I was able.
I left home,
For an Ivy college,
I came back to visit,
Primed with world-class knowledge.
We sat around the table,
Talking banal stuff,
Got up when I was finished,
But they had had enough.
Why don’t you clear the table?
You never made your bed!
Their questions had me spinning,
They hurt my head.
There was something that was cooking,
Had been something that was brewing,
My sisters turned feminists,
For years they had been stewing.
That one routine dinner,
Fed me more than I expected,
All of my upbringing,
Crashingly redirected.
It wasn’t just potatoes at the table that were mashed.
Blind to inequality,
All assumptions had been smashed.
It was they who were enraged,
Looked at me as a fool,
But I wish I saw the memo,
About changing the rules.
As we rewrote the playbook,
We had to improvise,
And here we are again, America,
Taken by surprise.
I’ve been here before,
You’ve been here, too.
Like yesterday, back then,
Unacceptable to just “make do.”
We’ve done it before,
We’ll do it again,
Some will lose, and some will win.
It may not be fair, it’s out of balance,
When restoring dignity,
You have to make allowance.
It’s not an excuse to rail with hate,
We won’t heal if we only berate.
Winner take all,
Is a recipe for the fall.
Look-haven’t all have fallen, one time or another?
Serve up compassion,
And you’ll see it’s your brother.
Cross-posted to the Huffington Post