You Have to Imagine It

stay, Valentine, stay

No Kings rally end of March

strength grows in numbers

 Bundle in the warmth of the NYC crowd at Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s New Year’s Day Inauguration.  “This moment is our “Proof.”  Poet Cornelius Eady’s presence—the soft-spoken electricity of his words.  His remarks celebrating inclusivity, offered prior to reciting his poem from his phone, serve as tasty off-the-cuff appetizers.  Would you like to experience “a joy that wears down the rock of no.”  Me, too.  “You have to imagine it.”  Take off, wilding imagination.  “The taste of us/the spice of us / the hollers and the rhythms and / the beats of us.”  The clock strikes our time.

Museum Director and Romantic Poet —Bill Martin and Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fifth-grade excitement built for my first trip to Richmond’s Valentine Museum—even in April, a gallery devoted entirely to my favorite holiday.  What a no-chocolate disappointment!  But a visit to the Valentine Museum, whether in person or online, remains a holiday.  Director and curator since 1995, Bill Martin knew that accurately telling the story of Richmond’s past was essential to the city’s future.  Look.  A 1950s public school textbook, used by fourth graders that included Martin, states that “slavery was benign and the enslaved people were happy.”  Who memorized that “fact” for the test?  He read hate mail and received death threats because the museum exposes the lies perpetrated as the Southern “Lost Cause.”  What to do?  Legendary for his heart and humor, Martin invited the once-haters to break bread with him at lunch.  “You’re not learning unless you’re just a little bit uncomfortable.”  He saved the now-thriving Valentine financially, claiming his days as camp counselor prepped him well for gallery director.  Popular man-about-town on foot or in his MINI-Cooper, Martin died on December 28th, struck by a car in a crosswalk.  Memorial gifts support the ongoing renovation of his cherished Valentine Garden—an irresistible outdoor space whose beauty is the invitation.  Martin left this country a blueprint.  Set the record straight about the past.  Then, and only then, move into a brighter future.

Poet Percy Bysshe Shelly’s concluding verse in his 1819 “The Masque of Anarchy:”

Rise like Lions after slumber

In unvanquishable number,

Shake your chains to earth like dew

Which in sleep had fallen on you –

Ye are many – they are few.” 

Everlasting Poetry—Renée Good and Cornelius Eady

Renée Good graduated in 2020 with an English degree from Old Dominion University in Norfolk, VA.  Her professors remember her as kind, upbeat, and helpful to struggling students.  Holding down a job during pregnancy and pandemic, college girl Good stayed compassionate and positive.  Older and with more obligations than her traditional classmates, she published an award-winning poem: “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs.”  See her at the IHOP, memorizing details for a biology test, “under clippings of the moon at two forty-five AM I study and repeat /ribosome…endoplasmic….”  And, she wonders, “maybe there in-between my pancreas and large intestine is the piddly / brook of my soul.”  Lit by moon clippings, flow, brook of her soul.

Renée Good’s last words as she began to drive away from the executioner sear our hearts: “That’s fine, dude.  I’m not mad at you.”  A week after his joyful inaugural poem recitation, Cornelius Eady penned grief-stricken verses at the news that “Renee Nicole Good Is Murdered.”  After she dropped her child at school, a shooter gunned her voice into permanent silence.  “Up rides the super cops / the cancellation squad.”  Eady delicately paints a portrait of the last look on Good’s open, life-loving face.  He captures horror and wraps it in her innocence.

From a statement by Becca Good, Renée’s wife: “We chose Minnesota to make our home.  Our whole extended road trip here, we held hands in the car while our son drew all over the windows to pass the time and the miles.  What we found when we got here was a vibrant and welcoming community, we made friends and spread joy….  We were raising our son to believe that no matter where you come from or what you look like, all of us deserve compassion and kindness….  On Wednesday, January 7th, we stopped to support our neighbors.  We had whistles.  They had guns….  We must come together to build a world where we all come home safe to the people we love.” 

Intensive Care—Alex Pretti and Jessica Hauser

Once a happy child at play in Green Bay, Wisconsin, Alex Pretti, like Renée Good, lived for thirty-seven years.  A Boy Scout playing high school football and singing in the choir, he graduated from the University of Minnesota in 2011 with a degree in biology, society and the environment.  First employed as a research scientist, he returned to nursing school and cared with uncommon talent and empathy for veterans in the ICU.  Beloved by his Minneapolis patients and coworkers as well as his neighbors and his family, an environmentalist mountain biking with his dog Joule, Nurse Pretti protested the rollback of environmental regulations and the murder of Renée Good.  He blew a whistle alerting anyone being pursued by American stormtroopers.  Peacefully protesting in January 24th sub-zero frigidity, filming lawlessness with his phone, and kneeling to help someone fallen, Pretti was surrounded by seven masked terrorists.  Pepper-sprayed, assaulted, flattened, executed.  

From a statement by Jessica Hauser, Pretti’s last nursing student: “He taught me how to care for arterial and central lines, the intricacies of managing multiple IVs filled with lifesaving solutions, and how to watch over every heartbeat, every breath, and every flicker of life, ready to act the moment they wavered….  I recognized his familiar stillness and signature calm composure shining through those unbearable final moments captured on camera.  It does not surprise me that his final words were ‘Are you okay?’  Caring for people was at the core of who he was….  I am a better nurse because of his wisdom and skills he instilled in me.  I carry his light with me into every room, letting it guide and steady my hands as I heal and care for those in need.” 

Springsteen’s protest song

“Streets of Minneapolis”

remember their names

Melting Snow and Toasting Hearts—Billy Strings, Bob Weir, TC Carson  

His graceful fingers flitting about the guitar, Billy Strings reminds us that there’s no need to “Gild the Lily.”  Flap your wings as you listen to this bluegrassy tune—six bird mates play along on fiddle, banjo, mandolin, bass, cello, and drums.  “I’d sing along with the birds, if I / only knew the words.”  Bird words overheard from their trilling dictionary.  “I’d master every verse until my spirit learned to burst / into the morning sun.”  

Strumming with the Grateful Dead and an array of appreciative musicians (Billy Strings a soulful partner) since 1972, Bob Weir leaves a “Ripple in still water / when there is no pebble tossed.”  He takes us home again in this 2020 Tiny Desk Concert—his voice sweet-sounding as ever, Weir’s merry accompanists include a harpist, drummer, and bassist.  “Reach out your hand, if your cup be empty / If your cup is full, may it be again.”  

Meet TC Carson.  His voice parties with the words and frees the melody of “My Funny Valentine.”  Guess what?  “Each day is Valentine’s Day.”  Oh! I knew it—“even in the summertime.”  Tables, candles, headsets—pianist, drummer, bassist.  Carson’s hands orchestrating as he scats about, his intonation of the last word makes us smile with our hearts. 

yes, we are many

boycott, march, blow whistles blow

yodelayhee—you