dark of the moon…
a long winter’s nap…
oh, that i, capped in my knit hat, could in this cold bed, sleep and sleep and sleep, until spring
until that day when this long dark night of democracy, so strangled of breath and warmth and light, finally flowers in fulfillment of its promise.
but wouldn’t i, in my sleeping, neglect all this sewing of love; and don’t i want to be a seamstress of our democracy? like the stories of Betsy Ross my father told, hoping to lend some icon of inspiration to his eager daughter in a world that offered her none
we lived just down the block from the liberty bell and independence hall where the declaration of our equal nation took flight without a single woman or man of other recognized
how too might i have lent my voice to jefferson’s pen?
my people, also called Jefferson, settled in this nation…
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Two Owls Calling 