Personal, Political

Very bittersweet to be taking down the yard signs today, especially given the heartbreaking fact that Proposition 8 passed. How that's possible, how folks can support it -- let alone a majority, let alone in California -- is something I'm utterly unable to comprehend. What gets more personal than whom you love? Yes, the personal is political -- but why politicize that?

I'm definitely feeling lighter today, though, more hopeful, and so relieved that at long last the election is over. The New Yorker cover that arrived today pretty much nailed it: the blue light at the end of the very long red tunnel.

Another bit of happy news: I won for the third time in a row with a little poem that I submitted to this week's Creative Construction contest. The prompt was "Hands," and I ended up jotting down my response on scraps of paper while chasing around BB and worrying about the election. Here it is:

Hands (The Personal is Political)

Tap the keyboard,
Knead the bread,
Paint the canvas,
Make the bed,

Knit the sweater,
Wrap the gift,
Braid the tresses,
Mend the rift,

Wield the hammer,
Sweep the rug,
Tend the bruises,
Squeeze the hug,

Push the stroller,
Mold the clay,
Burp the baby,
Show the way,

Cast the ballot,
Skip the rope,
Thread the needle,
Pray for hope.