Washington, D.C.

July 6, 2018 

Friday 

We enjoy 

the spaciousness 

Of our King suite 

A wall sized window 

The lack of deadlines and alarms 

And each other 

Eventually 

We extricate ourselves 

From our hotel paradise 

To explore The Mall 

That holds the hopes 

And dreams of protesters 

And inaugural attendees 

We find a panel of disparate musicians, 

Roma and Baul 

Whose purity of spirit and song 

Entrance us 

I step out of my zone of comfort 

Moving forward to pose a question 

About the women in their cultures 

And delight in the Sufi’s answer 

About each of us containing 

Both male and female 

And about music being 

An attempt to reach 

The Divine 

In ourselves 

The Catalonian betrays a similarity 

That we, in our world, struggle against: 

Women only as singers and dancers. 

We spot our New Museum 

But can’t get in 

So we sit by its fountain 

Resting and longing for entry 

Even the gift shop causes 

Pangs of the heart 

We shall try again tomorrow 

(We do, and it is for naught) 

There is, however, more value 

In the day 

For our pilgrimage requires that 

We pay homage to our King 

Cab driver, accented black man, 

Says he knows the way 

But does not 

Dropping us, instead, 

To the memorial for FDR 

At which, despite our disappointment, 

We are inspired by his words 

His four terms 

And, of course, 

His Eleanor. 

A father and his daughter, 

Who we’ve met before 

(and will again) 

Point us in the right direction. 

We delight in the massiveness and 

Beauty of the statue of 

Martin 

He emerges from a mountain 

And gazes across the water 

To Lincoln? 

To the world he envisions 

For us? 

Will the children brought here 

Remember to pursue his 

Dream?

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