If I'd Had A Harp
He came in from another long day
on his summer job and because I’d been
home a few minutes I had some news.
Not new news. Just same old exile news.
“We killed another black man today.”
He sighed. I sighed. I’d swear the
kitchen sink we stood at sighed.
One of us, I can’t remember which, said,
“Well that’s no good.” And we sighed again.
The sorrowful sighing of a father and son.
Does it count for anything at the end
of a long summer’s day? I don’t know.
He walked away to claim a shower while
I tinkered at something for dinner.
While the waters of Babylon rinsed the
dirt from my son’s body I thought of
Zion, and sighed again at our captivity.
If I’d had a harp I would have stepped
outside, and hung it in a willow’s tears.
Hi John, I’ve only recently discovered your blog and poetry; I’m so moved by everything you write. Thanks for sharing your beautiful gift.
No harp here, just tears.
Amen. #howlongolord
No harp. No willow. But the sighing…
Touching…
While the weeping wandering souls…wash in the waters of hope
Thanks John
Yes. And how I wish it were not so.
After watching African American friends’ comments and posts on my facebook news feed today, I’ve seen as never before the deep anger, sorrow, and despair that the system will ever change. I don’t think our (outsiders’) sorrow and tears mean much unless they lead to action. Probably it’s the best beginning, though. So here’s hoping we all (especially myself, who am given to inertia) do something.
Psalm 137
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Thank you for singing the Lord’s song in this strange land.
How do we seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before our God in this evil time?