Jeff McCallum

I regret that my father " went on tour" before his heart could be warmed by the results of the election.

As my friend Warren Bowles of the Mixed Blood Theatre reminded me it was in 1968 that Bobby Kennedy projected a "Negro" President a possibility in forty years or so. A lifetime and a moment ago.

The eloquence with which our President Elect speaks is so like the voices of our heroes reborn in this different time to savor the fruits of a dream taking seed, sprouting not on sand or rocky ground but on a fertile field prepared watered, watched; tended with loving care by those such as you, hands scared from clearing rock after rock,who not only shared the dream, but believed it was a vision of possibility.

Now, more than ever, it my hope that people of character will continue to work to tend the plant as it brings forth real fruit, will remain vigilant, hands and hearts still willing to winnow the chaff from the wheat and plant again the seed.

Welcome Back America

We have felt like strangers so long

you and I

Bridges to almost nowhere

interchanges becoming mazes

constellations lost

in the pandemonium of barkers

hawking maps to the homes of the stars

My heart has grown restless

weary

wondering and wandering

wandering and wondering

where it will lie

We have been apart so long

you and I

Bridges have crumbled

land lies fallow

as sun shines and rain falls

human beings stand faceless on the street corners

and intersections of our lives

Their hearts have grown restless

weary

their voices blow in the wind

drown in the sea of someone’s agenda

Veteran’s voices

mother’s voices

children’s voices

a whisper

wondering and wandering

wandering and wondering

where they will lie

We have drifted so far

you and I

Bridges have failed us

been posted with detour signs

or closed for repair

Gulfs divide us

great chasms of fear separate hearts

the spines of moral mountains

rise from the earth to divide us

Now comes the weaver

creating visions of dreams

dreams of visions

builder of bridges and pathways and tunnels

that we might cease wondering and wandering

wandering and wondering

when we might touch hands once again