It's been quite a week.
Rebel Girl found herself humming My Country 'Tis of Thee in the shower, in her car, while she cooked.
Something's up, she thought, or else she's turning back into the girl scout who used to carry the colors with such pride that she'd cry.
Maybe she's becoming, after all these years, Aretha Franklin.
Cool.
Here's a poem from Frank Bidart:
Inauguration Day
Today, despite what is dead
staring out across America I see since
Lincoln gunmen
nursing fantasies of purity betrayed,
dreaming to restore
the glories of their blood and state
despite what is dead but lodged within us, hope
under the lustrous flooding moon
the White House is still
Whitman's White House, its
gorgeous front
full of reality, full of illusion
hope made wise by dread begins again
