Crone Corps plots to take back Malheur

In the Name of Misfortune

Take it back for the grandchildren

In the name of the land, of the birds.

In the name of passage and shelter in  transit

I call the grandmothers

Come with soft feathers, robed in  down,

helmed with silver hair

Our deep knowledge and dry wry anger.

Let us come together like a covenant of owls

A murder of crows

We answer an older law

They must answer to us for what they have done

Calling the grandmothers, the crones, the silver ones

Let us walk together in the white winter light

This is our time

Come together like a smother of feathers

The dry hidden talons

It is time

Take it back for the feathered things

For the silver spill of damp in a dry place

Calling all crones

To a place called misfortune

It is time to stand up like dry reeds

Whispering protection for the tiny hot transients

It is time to take back the sacred places of the dead

So we know we can also lie in peace at our time

Calling the flightless ones, the winged ones

The ones that ride the  broom

To the place called misfortune

In the name of the horned soft being who demands, WHO

It is time.

Racism, sexism and why you don’t trust Hillary

How do you trust someone you harmed unforgivably?  Even if they say they’ve moved on (because, really, what else can one do?  Otherwise the aggressor steals the future as well as the past) you know you could never get over it.  So you don’t believe them.

White America and slavery.  Europe and American tribes.   A sixth of us are children of Africans who were kidnapped, raped, tortured, treated as things.  Of course Blacks are scary.  How could they forgive that?  What revenge are they planning?   I am Jewish and haven’t been able to make myself visit Germany.  Yet the survivors of this continent’s holocaust have nowhere to go.   If I were they, of course I’d be planning to get my own back.

And Hillary.  It isn’t about the policy and the politics because if it had been a man in the same role the explanations would make sense and we’d objectively parse her out, around the 65^th percentile, left of Obama but right of Bernie and still well left of even the Democratic median.  We’d acknowledge that the one area a woman in national politics HAS to overperform to make a nationally credible run is in a show of military toughness.

It’s Monica.  We wouldn’t forgive and we don’t believe she did.  But she’s still married to the horndog, so what does that mean?  Is it about family and a child and being a village and greater good?  Is it a sign of personal ambition that will accept even that humiliation, so what other horrors does it accept?  Or is it the calculated indifference of a political mechanic?  Or—why doesn’t this narrative surface—the stoic public face of None of Your Damn Business?

She is going to have to talk about it. I am so sorry because she shouldn’t, any more than you would go up to a friend and say, well, what do you think of slavery, how do you feel about not being able to live where your ancestors lived, happy Yom HaShoah.  That is ridiculous.  We know what the answer is.  Pain, rage, sorrow, a deep and permanent wound.

Yet until she shows hers you aren’t going to trust her.