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“America, this is what my God has told me about you— you field of dying sunflowers, you semiautomatic gun slinging unsanctuary, you apparition that is the crowd gathered beneath yet another oak tree on the postcard— Justice is not a pendulum Justice is not a hammer Justice is not a bandage it is water, and your better angels have long sung of its rolling tide, calling those things which are not as though they were. Am I crazy, America, letting you inside me again and again though you do not even love me...” — Natasha Oladokun
America, this is what my God has told me about you—
you field of dying sunflowers, you semiautomatic gun slinging unsanctuary, you
apparition that is the crowd gathered beneath yet another oak tree on the postcard—
Justice is not a pendulum Justice is not a hammer Justice is not a bandage
it is water, and your better angels have long sung of its rolling tide,
calling those things which are not as though they were. Am I crazy,
America, letting you inside me again and again though you do not even love me...