You Wear Stripes and I’ll Wear Checks
(“Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion. Sing aloud, Daughter Jerusalem.
Look, your king will come to you. He is righteous and victorious.
He is humble and riding on an ass, on a colt, the offspring of a donkey.”
Zechariah 9:9)
You wear
stripes and I’ll wear checks,
we’ll dance until the world thinks we are the whirling milkshakes
from the midway at the state fair.
We’ll walk past the sunset, we’ll take our hands out of our pockets,
we’ll walk without a word to say, we’ll take the same midday meals we
took yesterday.
We’ll
lay down the memories, etch them into the sidewalk,
we’ll lay down the memories so plain, we will never forget
the dancing that brought rain, the songs no one explained,
and the hours we spent unafraid of the next day or the day after
That.
Tomorrow
we might step up to the sky,
tomorrow we might climb the stair, see if we can fly.
Let us look like fools in a world that, adoring war,
celebrates medals and ribbons, bombs and acquisitions;
let us loop behind the firepower with wild poppies from the fields.
Let us lead the parade on
the day after tomorrow
where gardens and festivals meet on sunny Sundays
midafternoon.
Have you
seen us lately? Have you felt the breeze?
Have you heard us lately? Have you felt the thawing
of ice bricks; have you felt the mighty withdrawing
from their thrones?
Sing, though
the words are indecipherable. Dance, though
the patterns and colors do not mix. Feast, though your pockets
are empty. Drink, though you have forgotten why.
You wear
stripes and I’ll wear checks,
we’ll walk down the midway from entrance to exit,
wearing palm branches for sandals and the flowers we
planted where muskets once were manufactured.
