Sand
I’m sitting on the cold sand
And there is a bar graph rising high around me.
Michigan’s waters shouting, receding:
“Minute! Details! Sandstorms.”
Black columns and granite ridges
Looking down, with
Perspective,
And depth.
Grey skies and windy
Conversation, swirling upward,
North then south,
Warmer and bringing snow again.
And I rode the wind higher now
And I’m still not the tallest around.
But now, geometrically, I see
Exhaust fans and greenhouses.
Falling again, to the noise and the
Sand. The car horns and the
Waters. And the swollen
Vein, drawing a line in the
Sand. No farther.
caroline said,
April 6, 2008 at 4:53 pm
Today they ran the olympic torch through London. I expected it to be this really positive and triumphant experience, but it was actually quite scary and intensely angry. People here hate China and don’t want them to hold the summer olympics. There were tons of police everywhere, and when the torch came through all I could hear were screaming protestors for Human Rights in China to free Tibet and other such things. A man got knocked down by some police officers in front of me, everyone was screaming, RUN! RUN! I was terrified and alone and very unaware.
Sometimes when I am here I feel very small.
I am learning that the world needs a big hug. Every where I go people still hate other people. There is still injustice. There is still inequality. There is no sense I can make of any of it.
I am learning about art and the possibilities of art. It seems like something should fit together and should be smart enough to find some kind of bottom line about art and social justice and community, but I can’t.