Mr. President, explain yourself

thoreau-its-not-what-u-look-at-its-what-u-see-copy-copy

Right now there are people all over America who were “lucky” enough to get through customs at our airports, in our country  – you know,

land of the

free

and

home of the

[chickenshit CHEETOheaded buffoon]  

brave

who know that whoever they left behind in the country they left behind – parents, children, grandmothers grandfathers, aunts, uncles, grandchildren, great-grandchildren – they are waking up this morning to the knowledge that

they may never see their family again.

This morning there is a grandmother  with tears in her eyes and a heart that she wishes would break – like it

feels like it’s breaking

because if it really did break maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much to think about the way her grandson’s hair smells when she kisses his little head.

 

There is a grandfather waking up with the sound of his 

granddaughter’s laugh in his ears

like a song in a loop; a song that won’t get unstuck. 

It is music.

The only music he ever wants to hear again.

It is real.

Real like nothing else in this world will ever be real to him again. She is just learning to walk, and she laughs and laughs and laughs as she toddles toward him; her beautiful

tiny, trusting,

soft hands outstretched toward his face, and she’s too little to understand; he knows she won’t be able to understand —

—  WHERE IS HE?? —

Why doesn’t he come back? 

[that laugh in his head like a bell] 

knowing she won’t understand — she can’t understand — she’s too young to be able to understand

why 

why can’t she see him again?

Where did he go? 

WHERE IS HE??

And he’s old, but he can’t understand either.

And I do not understand, either.

WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

And we DO NOT accept this.

We

will not

accept this.

MR. PRESIDENT, PLEASE EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

It appears our president does not understand the notion of America.

So we will talk slowly and use small words:

      1. This country belongs to us.

     2. There is no number 2.

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