152: When All This is Over

I thought when this was over

there would be a parade.

I thought we would throw open the doors,

slide back the curtains

and run out into the streets cheering.

I thought there would be music,

and a marching band,

and fireworks,

and people would hug and laugh

and it would go on for hours.

I thought the newspapers would call it

“the day we returned to each other”

and I thought I’d tell my grandkids about it

with happy tears in my eyes.

I thought when this was over things would be different.

I thought that maybe after all this-

after all this grief and death,

we might hold each other a little more tenderly.

I thought we’d remember

just how valuable life is.

I thought we’d be hungry

to protect one another,

to care for one another.

I thought things would be different.

Instead,

we’re still punishing incarcerated individuals with isolation.

Millions have died but we can’t be bothered to wear our masks.

Coat hangers are more valuable in Texas.

You can get a gun as easily as a loaf of bread.

Our textbooks are editing out racial injustice

and women don’t feel safe in their own skin.

I thought things would be different.

If you thought so too, then my door is open.

There’s no marching band here,

so it might feel like a let down,

but we can still sing.

And we can still pray.

And we can still dream

that one day,

some day,

the papers will read-

“That was the day they returned to each other.”