Monday Morning Musings:
Inaugurate, we celebrate–
on what might have been.
Auspicious signs, windswept sky
through which geese fly
across bouclé textured-white—soaring high,
winging up the vibrant blue,
and astride the grey,
Pegasus gallops straight away
launching thunderbolts and bringing springs–
a refrain to the moon’s lullaby—
We sigh. We cry.
We wonder why
things came to this. The insurrectionists still kiss
and venerate their leader, they miss
the never-was, and foment hate, lurk, and wait.
But, for now, we celebrate–
and there’s a glow. We inaugurate,
new chiefs of state,
and new beginnings. Truth flows
over lies that decompose
with the swamp things—please go.
There are never shadows without light,
the future is brighter, if not bright.
The snow will melt; we’ll vaccinate,
our antibodies and gleaming dreams.
We’re still in a pandemic. I haven’t gone anywhere or done anything special, but we have a new president and vice-president! Already the inauguration seems far in the past, but it’s been less than a week. People report finally having a good night’s sleep, and there’s a sense of hope and optimism in the air. Nevertheless, we are still in the midst of a pandemic, and it’s been revealed by multiple legitimate news sources that the now twice-impeached former resident of the White House, had no plan for vaccine distribution. And the business of governing goes on.
Meanwhile, it’s been cold and blustery here. I made borscht and baked.
Merril’s Movie/TV/Book Club: We watched White Tiger (Netflix). It’s a movie that I’m definitely thinking about. Though it’s about caste and culture in India, it also makes some sly jabs about corrupt governments, class, and race elsewhere. We’ve all seen corruption and politics going hand-in-hand, and the idea that those at the top don’t even really see those who toil for them is part of the history of the U.S. The point is also made in Lupin, the highly bingeable French Netflix show that we just began. It’s also a bit sly, and a very entertaining look at a French “gentleman thief,” who is trying to solve a mystery involving his father.
I read Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell. It’s a fiction, highly speculative account of the Shakespeares’ marriage and the death of their son. Her language is stunningly beautiful and descriptive. Despite the sadness—yes, I cried—I was transported to this world. It’s a gorgeous book.