The Crossings

(WHO IS prepared to hold our torch of Democracy)

By Beverly Jenai

Couldn't sleep last night, as I thought to myself

and remembered  

scenes from China . . . just last week . . .

High Tech explosions . . . LIGHTENING EVERYWHERE

the pride, seemingly of their exhibits

of Yellow and Maroon red flags

fly'n high above the mysterious Wall

while the world lit up from Olympic beams 

holding gigantic orange filled torches

hanging from every horizon within our view . . .

appearing as huge candles blowing in Asian winds 

flickering amiss diverse star filled skies

and what was more apparent than ever . . . was

Technology now prevails...

Analogous thoughts prevailed this night . . . 8/25 2008

as I asked myself . . .

How important is it . . .  that the flame in our country . . .  

be passed on, that the torches of our past . . .

our pessimistic thoughts mumblings and apathies

be digitally recorded instead

that we give way 

to a more enlightened generation taking over our country

when even crisscrossed computers . . . and complex Blackberry phones

seem to be causing us such daunting concerns

"Hi Daddy!"

the lil' cinnamon girl

with bouncing brown curls said

while twisting with excitement

unable to stand still

certainly, unlike her sister

who was intent to stare straight ahead in amazement

as she inched closer and closer

to the technological screen displayed before her eyes

I'm sure she must have wondered

How could her Daddy . . . how could he be . . . roughly 50 ft. in height

How can he be so huge?

How can he be so tall?

How were all those trillions of digital dots . . . coming together

Transforming . . . transferring her Dad in such an electrifying style.

But, my attention diverted again 

to the youngest of sisters

as this lil' cinnamon child shouts out  . . .

Daddy!!  Hi Daddy!!

seemingly oblivious to a 75,000 in crowd

in that huge conventional hall

as she simultaneously. . .but firmly grips hands 

with a tall statuesque mahogany woman

protectively standing next to her side

a deeply in-grained woman it would appear

a rich look'n woman . . . my grandmother would say

with highly polished amber shines 

not a smudge anywhere to be seen.. 

and even through her textures,

her colors, so to speak, were mesmerizing

I frowned a bit

as the whispers of low branched weeping willows surfaced 

as they began to take over my thoughts

pictures of historically untangled ropes swung back and forth

moved in the rewinds of my mind's eye.

Soon I found myself joining others on display

as tears began cascading down my face . . . as my makeup began to transform

thoughts of handed down stories swirled in my mind

of the howlings  . . . the howlings of the Hound dogs...

the passing's  . . . heavy chains  . . . torches in darkness  . . . unplanned passages

the hummings of "Precious Lord . . . hold my hand . . ." thus recorded thus heard

magnolia scents of stagnant brown waters  . . .

and the sounds of sage green splashing waters

from indigo bodies falling within

and the air I was breathing . . .

suddenly became filled with smoldered gray smells of gunsmoke  

cigarette butt balconies, Kennedy's head and firings . . .

triggered by an assassins ignorant hands

found myself sniff'n smoke . . . riots from my ole' neighborhood. 12th st. 

but then I smiled . . . remembering...

that over time . . . what's most relative

what's most important . . .

were those crossings . . . those crossings towards freedom

and I knew . . . that's what I was seeing right now!

So I'm refocusing tonight . . . 8/25/08 . . .

Noting that before me . . . on my screen . . .

stands a little cinnamon child

with bouncing brown curls

and she's standing confidently and proudly

on the stage of the Democratic Convention Hall floor

Shouting  . . .

Daddy . . . Daddy !!!

Where are you now??

One day . . .

but not tonight . . . surely she will really know.

copyright 8/27/08 / Bev Jenai/bev myers / www.bevjenaiart.com