We’re all standing.
We’re standing with San Bernardino.
We’re standing with Paris.
We’re standing with Planned Parenthood,
with #GunSense and #GunControl.
We’re standing with #BlackLivesMatter,
and we’re standing with #NotInMyName.
Hell, we’re one hashtag away from becoming
the nation that stood for everything.
We’re all striving to be Lady Liberty,
statue-strong and docile.
We’ve grown accustomed to the rinse and repeat motions
of shootings and suffering and grief and standing.
Another life lost,
another prayer given,
another hashtag made,
and then it’s all forgotten.
We’re so busy standing with everyone,
we never take a step forward for change.
I want to stand with Paris.
I want to stand with Beirut.
I want to stand with Egypt,
I want to stand and stand and stand
but I’ve hit my knees
and forgotten how to pray.
I know in a few years Paris will be a grainy photograph
stuck to a thin page in some history textbook
with the caption
“Attack on Paris by ISIS.”
They’ll wrap up all the heartache and loss into
five words and
Fourteen years of the War on Terror
takes less than fourteen pages
and it won’t tell you that everyone remembers where they were
when those towers fell.
It won’t show you the things we all lost in those sands.
Maybe it’ll give you statistics.
Two or three lines to describe the casualties.
And somewhere among those numbers I hope they add in
the loss of my marriage,
the loss of the ability of a man to father his children,
the loss of the love that was once held by two young people
crazy enough to dash naked through the snow
and lie for hours on the grass as if no one could see them.
I hope they add on every family like mine,
the loss that can’t be packed into a wooden box
and marked with a number
and a small white cross.
I hope in all the political shit
piled into the text of these next history books
it says that we stood united
in fear, and loss, and pain.
That we stood with Paris.
That we stood even when our knees gave out
and we stood when we forgot how to pray.