Lent Poetry: Hail

I heard the tiny pings
of the hail
from my office

it was a strange sound-
one I had not heard
in a long time

it made me glad
I was inside

because the last time
I heard hail
I had to ask the Gods
to save me

(and they did)

Lent Poetry: Unfamiliar

3 weeks from now
I will be in a different town
with snow
a lake
and people

In a new house
that will smell the way
only new places have
like bleach and
Pledge
and paint

The cats will hate us
and then explore
the new house
claiming their territories
as we claim
bedrooms and desks

I will look out
of a new window
and wonder about
possibilites
ministries
and magick

I will order groceries
unpack boxes
and decide where
the toothbrush will go

Then I will explore
and find a cafe
with wifi
fancy homemade tea
and a table that
feels comfortable

I will write a poem
there
and I will tell myself
this is home now
but I won’t believe it

then I will return
to our new house
I will cook dinner
in a unfamiliar kitchen

but my wife will be there
and I will hold her
in our new house
which will be
home

Staring at a blank page, banging my head against the wall

When I write about
not being abusive
to allies,
I get told that I’m oppressing the marginalized
and that allies should just sit down
and shut up.

And I wonder:
when did verbal abuse in social justice
become ok?

When I write about
not shaming those who can’t
march,
or call,
or who can’t speak out
because doing these things are not possible,
or could put them in danger,
I get told that my/their silence is assent.

And I wonder:
when did shaming and ableism in social justice
become ok?

When I write about the elephants
in the social justice room:
anti-semitism,
elitism,
holier-than-thou attitudes,
racism,
homophobia,
transphobia,
I don’t get told anything-
because
people who think they are doing all the right things
don’t want to be told that they might be doing
something wrong.

And I wonder:
when did social justice lose it’s
compassion?

It’s hard not to despair
when I want to write about these things
since all I see is that
we, collectively, are doing the work of
our oppressors

But,
I suppose
when you think about it,
when you
really, really
think about it:

Oppression is all we know how to do.