It’s Time for the Stone to Flower

On the Anniversary of Kristallnacht, Donald Trump is Elected President

It starts with breaking glass,
a brick thrown,
Jewish storefront shattered.
Businesses destroyed.
The vile Other punished.
(All that has been worked for
in ruins.)

If I didn’t know,
the German word sounds pretty,
tinkles, conjures flutes of champagne
raised in toast.

If we didn’t know.

Numb, stunned, tearful,
some of us get passports, put
our houses up for sale.
Others start the work.

We try to soothe the children, promise
to protect the weak. “If he makes
Muslims register,
we’ll say we’re Muslim.”

Still, the nuclear codes.
The blighted planet.
Klan members dancing on a bridge.
The way fracked water burns.

First reports: Hijabs ripped off,
a gay man stabbed.

Protests begin.
Our hearts are breaking.
How the pieces catch the light.

“Trump has Won the Presidency”

I will find beauty.
I will hunt for it
and force myself to see.
These lilies, for example, crowded
in a slender vase, still fresh
from my daughter’s combination
bat mitzvah/quinceanera.
I will not see them as vulvas
ready to grab.
I will not focus on
how all of them are white.
If not these flowers, trees.
Or grass, sky, mountains,
sidewalks bright with children’s chalk.
Surely something can force my eyes
from images of swastikas
and “Die Nigger” on buildings,
can make our broken country turn the other way.
There must be beauty fierce enough to save us.

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