Peter Putnam offers an image of hope and growth in the midst of a time marked by destruction and hate.
In 1968, when I was nine,
Tommie Smith and John Carlos
threw black fists at the Olympic sky
and I was dazzled
by their light.
This year, when my son is nine,
brothers his color
are falling down, falling down
until the American sky
is saturated with stars.
The Solstice is almost here, my friends.
In less than a week,
the days, slowly, the days
slowly get longer
until spring erupts
not with choke holds or bullets
but with soft rains and gentle winds
and green buds pushing up
through the brown earth
like tiny fists.
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