Heroes
"The arc of the moral universe is long,
but it bends towards justice."
– Theodore Parker, Abolitionist
1.
They, once respected and honored,
whose likenesses now evoke visceral
reactions of confusion, fear, hatred, disgust
for their role in dismantling a nation,
for seeing nothing wrong with enslaving people,
now face having statues bearing their names
toppled in rage or by dispassionate official decree.
Are they turning over in their graves,
embarrassed by this public humiliation
or puzzled at being expected
to feel shame, though if they examined
their words and actions, once so admired
and, sadly, still venerated by some,
they might see that their principles were birthed
from a profane and unholy place.
2.
You might never know in your lifetime
if the home, church, after-school program
you attended will become
a shrine or museum open for the public
to learn about what made you, you
or what the circumstances of your protests
now mean to those who yearn to honor and follow
your convictions, teachings, courage, and influence
by commemorating spaces you inhabited:
The bus stop where Rosa Parks boarded.
The Colored sections of bus stations.
The 16th Street Baptist Church.
The Edmund Pettis Bridge.
The Woolworth’s lunch counter.
The Birmingham jailhouse.
Soil under trees where ropes once hung.
Louise Kantro, a retired high school English teacher, is a bridge-player, cat-lover, and CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) for foster children. She received her MFA from Goddard College in 2003 and has published poetry and prose in such journals as Oasis, Cloudbank, The Chariton Review, the new renaissance, South Loop Review, Monterey Poetry Review, and Caesura. Her latest project is scanning a century’s worth of family photos.
"The arc of the moral universe is long,
but it bends towards justice."
– Theodore Parker, Abolitionist
1.
They, once respected and honored,
whose likenesses now evoke visceral
reactions of confusion, fear, hatred, disgust
for their role in dismantling a nation,
for seeing nothing wrong with enslaving people,
now face having statues bearing their names
toppled in rage or by dispassionate official decree.
Are they turning over in their graves,
embarrassed by this public humiliation
or puzzled at being expected
to feel shame, though if they examined
their words and actions, once so admired
and, sadly, still venerated by some,
they might see that their principles were birthed
from a profane and unholy place.
2.
You might never know in your lifetime
if the home, church, after-school program
you attended will become
a shrine or museum open for the public
to learn about what made you, you
or what the circumstances of your protests
now mean to those who yearn to honor and follow
your convictions, teachings, courage, and influence
by commemorating spaces you inhabited:
The bus stop where Rosa Parks boarded.
The Colored sections of bus stations.
The 16th Street Baptist Church.
The Edmund Pettis Bridge.
The Woolworth’s lunch counter.
The Birmingham jailhouse.
Soil under trees where ropes once hung.
Louise Kantro, a retired high school English teacher, is a bridge-player, cat-lover, and CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) for foster children. She received her MFA from Goddard College in 2003 and has published poetry and prose in such journals as Oasis, Cloudbank, The Chariton Review, the new renaissance, South Loop Review, Monterey Poetry Review, and Caesura. Her latest project is scanning a century’s worth of family photos.