By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
RISING UP
Women
kiss icons in the church of Saint Lazarus
place devote hands
over a reliquary
containing the saint’s bones
Beneath the altar –
a crypt with an empty sarcophagus
My eyes christen the marble with tears
for a distant country
in need of resuscitation
Ancestors appear
in the darkness:
Men
who fought beside Washington-
who taught Lincoln
when the president was a boy–
who were wounded fighting brothers during the Civil War–
who were forced on death marches
onto Indian reservations–
who lie in unmarked graves
along the Oregon Trail and in North Africa
I light a candle for America
run my fingers over my daughter’s photograph:
The embodiment of empathy love equality and peace
I am not a religious man
but I leave the church of Saint Lazarus
knowing the dead can rise up