My mother's favorite expression was "the longest day has an end."
I think she often said this silently to herself after another day of
factory work, after another day of working in the garment
industry, after another day of taking care of three children,
after a day of cold water and another night of no heat. Even
when there were the Clifton "good times" she reminded us that
this too would end.
In a few days 2020 will end and many of us will be happy.
We will be hopeful that the new year will be better. How could
things be worse? The only thing darker than 2020 might be our
collective ugliness, our rising temperature of hatred, our
willingness to hide our heads under a blanket of lies.
My grandson tells me he wants to be a superhero. How can
I tell him our world does not honor or respect aliens?
Superman was an orphan, separated from his family like
too many people around the world. It's difficult for me to
accept that people will depart from the present administration
and go back to their civilian lives believing they did good
when in their hearts they know they did wrong.
Where are the light bearers? What sky will now open
bringing brightness after all these waves of tears? I must go
in search of my mother's faith. I need her faith to
place evidence in my hands and convince me that the
darkness has not made us blind. I need to believe
love will restore our sight.
E. Ethelbert Miller is a writer and literary activist. Miller is host of the podcast On The Margin (WPFW).
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