Our Marias are in labor, our children push
towards the light: In Syria, a girl dreams
of peace, on the border with Mexico,
a Honduran boy dips his toes and his heartinto the waters of the Rio Bravo. In
Ferguson, in Staten Island, in Minneapolis,
those felled by bullets, by choke holds,
by the color of their skin are being born
again in voices that will not keep silent.
Where are our Josephs standing guard?
Where do our shepherds keep watch?
On the very edge of heaven, that
luminous space so close to earth
you can hear the heartbeat, you can
taste the blood, the angelic voices
strain against the command: wait
with your song until the birth occurs;
hold your wings against the darkness.
Who will join their chorus? Who will
speak the word that gives birth to joy?
Be justice. Be beauty. Be born anew.