We mourn. Oh, how we mourn.

Our disappointment riots forth…flagging hope.
We mourn a country that cries “he does not represent us” a thousand times over.
We mourn hate’s new wardrobe—adorned in talk of equity and tolerance,
Quietly accepted and blessed by God.
We mourn. Oh, how we mourn.

And yes, we mourn lives sliced short—
By our bullets, our young, our own.
Memorials, t-shirts, marches.
Our victories so incomplete.

In the same breath that we mourn, we celebrate.
Life commands us to celebrate.

Yes?

No.

We
are
not
done
mourning…

Michael Britt Photo

Michael Britt Photo

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