Dispatch #51


Andrew J. Thomas
Yesterday was the same as today;
is the same as tomorrow.
Each day passing,
one foot in front of the other,
a long aimless walk into wilderness.
Our faces left behind,
wind knocked out from underneath.
Our bodies encased in fear,
Hearts thumping in our ears–
even sunsets have grown unremarkable.
But the day after tomorrow?
Imagination can barely glimpse:
A world full of confetti and strangers 
kissing in the streets,
Children free to be children,
skipping through the park
hand in hand.
A boat on the horizon,
planks crowded with waving glee,
and more smiles on the peer
to greet their arrival.
Politicians having all gone home,
banished to silence and irrelevance–
a permanent duct tape of the soul.
A nation healed,
grown past itself,
absolved through contrition and responsibility–
which we know as reparations.
A world free now to smile,
to hug,
to weep for the dead,
to care for the living,
to rejoice in triumph;
A never ending parade 
from Wuhan to Minneapolis.
And you
beside me,
sitting on our front porch,
watching the commotion pass us by.
The dog at our feet,
tail wagging expectantly.
That will be a good day,
when it finally comes.

July 19, 2020

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