let hope blaze

9 Nov 2020 news 0 Comments

F0EB11CE-577B-4606-AAB2-5175A45D6D9F_1_201_aI don’t want to talk about the election and definitely didn’t plan to write a poem about it. But then I went for a walk with Cozbi on Friday and she named the condition of the golden maple trees: blight. Turns out these “tar spots” are the result of a fungus that doesn’t kill the tree. The next day I heard hollering in the street and that’s how I found out that Biden had won. I walked to the farmer’s market and ecstatic folks  were out in their cars, honking as they drove through Evanston in impromptu caravans. I know I can be Debbie Downer sometimes and this moment definitely reminds me of the day after President Obama won in 2008. I asked my students, “We now have a Black president. What else about the US has changed?” Saturday felt familiar…so much joy and relief, never mind the 70 million voters who tried to re-elect Trump. But I’m not here to say, “I told you so.” Instead I’m trying to allow myself (and others) these fleeting moments of joy.

Let Hope Blaze

let hope blaze

like the brassiest leaves

fanned gold and resplendent

against the blue sky

 

let my eye linger

only on beauty

and not on the blight

that mars each

saffron star

 

today

I can ignore

the lessons life’s

taught me

 

for now

I can choose

not to dwell

on the rot

 

in silence

I will honor

the glory of autumn

knowing that sometimes

the axe is the cure

© Zetta Elliott