I pass by them
on my way down the hill
to Safeway, or Peet's
names inscribed in simple block letters
draped on stunted trees in the median
or scrawled on cardboard “ grave” markers
in a makeshift cemetery on a small rise
excised by the cruel scalpel of racial injustice
their hollow voices cry out
to not be forgotten
Oskar Grant, Elijah McLain, Botham Jean, Alton Sterling, Brayla Stone
someone's lost child,
someone's missing lover,
someone's empty place at a family dinner
their legacy deserves to be so much more
than signs that will wash out
when the first rains come
I stop my car and pull over for a moment
drawn to this ersatz cardboard cemetery
a curious squirrel scampers among the “graves”
I pay my respects
sad for young lives cut short
and sad for our country
which has sunk so low
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I was struck by the sad listing of the names of young lives lost which I saw every day in my neighborhood and could not ignore. This poem was just featured in the San Francisco Chronicle to kick off National Poetry Month, as one of several poems selected which reflect our changing world. For information on my first book of poetry inspired by the pandemic, check out, My Runaway Hourglass, Seventy Poems Celebrating Seventy Years, joannejagoda.com.
so low and so sad *
Amen.*
Strong moment. *
I cried when I saw your title, and I'm crying now. What the fuck is wrong us?