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The Blog Bog
The Mag Rack
To the Last Infant
I feel the necessity to explain certain things to you.
The need to apologize for what has come before.
I am sorry that long ago
We fell in love with war
I am sorry to have scattered the globe
with warmongers and bigots.
We filled our hearts with ice,
removed them from our chests,
and packed them solidly in the Arctic Circle
without flags, to help find them later.
We found that we could always choose things
That were different in each
So as to divide ourselves and become enraged.
We have burned books.
Ruined or murdered people.
We have done terribly.
Where we once embraced difference,
we began to set aside, ostracize.
The beauty in our difference smoked out.
Those who should have been shrouded in our love,
lacking in judgment and treated with warmth, so as to say,
"I adore you enough to teach that this is a joyful life
and I will help you reach for it as well,"
have been sent away,
sometimes drugged or committed
because it is easier for us to ignore
than love and even help.
You see, child,
love takes time and patience.
I am sorry that I have gone to more marches
to support a woman's right to choose,
A person's right to marry,
A person's right to have health care
A safe place to sleep,
Support system and safety,
Parents who don't abuse.
To be out in the military.
To be out. Period.
Not in Our Name.
I was arrested for these things
and embrace that challenge,
Eating an apple a day,
without seizure medication,
locked in a chain link fence
And it goes on.
I apologize for having given this to you.
I am so sorry that we cannot work together.
We argue, distrust, engage violently, are utterly lacking in honesty,
dispassionate, clumsy in our willingness you hold others' hearts in our tender hands.
I apologize for leaving this with you.
To the Last Infant
I am so blessed to know what you will see.
You will see walls of love
From chosen family
built higher than an endless stack of the OED
or trees that could pierce the edge
of our solar system.
The compassion for others, beyond measure and
the gracious way that we walk people across the street
to their cars
or open doors.
My authenticity and love are as limitless as my outstretched arms.
I will love anybody, even if they hate me
because I feel happier that way.
And I will pass it pass it pass it
So that it gets to you
Through generations of archeological digs
In search of ancient pleasure and brilliance.
I am so thankful that you
Will walk through the world hearing people say,
"Hey, man. Let me help you out and buy you lunch."
You will see,
every sort of person known to humankind
walking though this world together,
even if that is not completely comfortable for some
because it had been uncomfortable for others for far too long.
You will climb a huge tree,
And watch as a person stands and makes the proclamation,
"I love myself and all that I am without question and regardless
of what anyone else feels...
And you will see an ocean of hands together,
A wave of acceptance crashing across the
Plains of humanity and changing the earth's axis, forever.
You will witness beauty in every face,
Uniqueness in every soul.
You will wrap your chest around the world
With a big heave made of silk,
Find challenge in many situations,
And recover with tenacious victory.
I will never know you
But I am a woman of faith
This is your legacy.
It is written here.
There are still those who fight with their art
Not their arms.
There are still those who touch their loved ones tenderly,
Embracing, as if it were the first, the last, the only day
They will have.
There are people who create things so exquisite so as
To set your mind alight.
You will learn that art should make you
Look, listen and think.
Writing is my native tongue
And you will find yours too.
You will read Sherman Alexie, Anne Sexton, Gloria Anzaldua, bell hooks, Ginu
Kamani, Tillie Olsen, Chrystos, Zora Neale Hurston, Nataniel and a million others
Because this is what we offer you as a gift.
You will dance through words
And struggle to recall your struggle.
You will lean back in a chair,
Grinning at the faces of friends and lovers,
Who would love you through your greatest
You will sit,
On the beach where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic,
And remember that nothing is more peaceful and perfect.
To the Last Infant
We will give you our voices,
And you will never
From this place.
Caryn LL Gottlieb