Gone
The Closing of the Cultural Heart of Our Town — Wild Iris Bookstore
Eclectic, the store, The books, the people, Honoring feminism Supporting the marginalized — Hub of activism, Gathering spot for writers, singers, artists. A place to fall softly To rise mightily, To speak truth in a whisper Or outrage in a roar, To find or recreate Yourself Or someone else.
A place that felt like home When home no longer did. A haven to discover You’re not one But one of many. To find a voice, a pen, a song, To read quietly Or rant loudly Or wail soulfully.
It was our place — The place for the fighters, The embracers, The believers, Who believe less today Than before.
Gentrification led to Relocation Then Termination. Another beacon Dimmed in an already Darkened world.
I cry for the missing light For the voices with no stage For the words with no pens For the activism with no action. Where will we go? In the streets? To be arrested, maced, shot? Where will we go to Just Be Who we Are?
Maybe you did not know it, But we did — We knew it as we know ourselves, As we knew each other. Who are we now? Tell me — Who are we now?
The dollar has spoken In numbers harshly cold, Cannot sustain, Cannot maintain, Cannot retain What is being lost One book at a time, One word at a time, One life at a time. The bank account is Negative In a negative world And now We are, too.
I cry for what was and Won’t be. I cry for the hopes that close With doors bolted and chained On the last bookstore That made a statement, That made a difference, That made a home When home was no longer one.