Another Name for America Is Time

Another Name for America Is Time

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after Wanda Coleman

JuneWe die.

JuneSoon we die in March, April, May

JuneMother may I? Yes you may.

JuneMother, your back is turned. Ah, there’s your face.

JuneWe march.

JuneJanuaryArberyMarchTaylorMay

JuneAugustRememberOctoberDecember
December

JuneWe march. Everyone is a world to someone.

JuneIf another person uses “knee on the neck” as
a metaphor I will scream.

JuneI teach myself how to run. Run. Walk. Run.
Walk.

JuneI pay quarterly taxes to the government of
the United States of America.

JuneTwo friends miscarry. L’s father succumbs to
pancreatic cancer. J’s mom is killed in a car
crash.

JuneI turn off the news because I can turn the
news off.

JuneI name the world. I name the time and its
sands.

JuneAaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh

JuneA neighbor loses his wife and daughter in
one week. I remember standing across from
the daughter. I can see her face. Years from
now, on an astonished

Juneday, her son will confuse memory for
photograph.

JuneThe first snow.

JuneA world becomes a repetition, a cry.

JuneAmerica

JuneThis is your July freedom. This is your
threshing floor.

JuneMy mouth is lion wide. I reread

JuneJordan: “My name is my own my own my
own.” Lucille Clifton: “and the land is in
ruins, / no magic, no anything.” Gwendolyn
Brooks: “We are lost, must / Wizard a track
through our own screaming weed.”

JuneWe jazz. We

JuneI bite my fist.

JuneI cast my pathetic, triumphant ballot.

JuneShucking corn, I find a worm.

JuneI look over my shoulder when I run. Walk.
Lurk. Lurch.

JuneI pay quarterly taxes to the government
of the United States of—If another
person says “a few bad apples” I’ll—
Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh—my mouth is roaring
with a human head.

JuneClifton: “the question for you is / what have
you ever traveled toward / more than your
own safety?”

JuneI

JuneI sing insufficiently.

JuneA word becomes incantation.

JuneOne of many graces.

June I haven’t ever cried.

We cannot back down

We now confront a second Trump presidency.

There’s not a moment to lose. We must harness our fears, our grief, and yes, our anger, to resist the dangerous policies Donald Trump will unleash on our country. We rededicate ourselves to our role as journalists and writers of principle and conscience.

Today, we also steel ourselves for the fight ahead. It will demand a fearless spirit, an informed mind, wise analysis, and humane resistance. We face the enactment of Project 2025, a far-right supreme court, political authoritarianism, increasing inequality and record homelessness, a looming climate crisis, and conflicts abroad. The Nation will expose and propose, nurture investigative reporting, and stand together as a community to keep hope and possibility alive. The Nation’s work will continue—as it has in good and not-so-good times—to develop alternative ideas and visions, to deepen our mission of truth-telling and deep reporting, and to further solidarity in a nation divided.

Armed with a remarkable 160 years of bold, independent journalism, our mandate today remains the same as when abolitionists first founded The Nation—to uphold the principles of democracy and freedom, serve as a beacon through the darkest days of resistance, and to envision and struggle for a brighter future.

The day is dark, the forces arrayed are tenacious, but as the late Nation editorial board member Toni Morrison wrote “No! This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”

I urge you to stand with The Nation and donate today.

Onwards,

Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editorial Director and Publisher, The Nation

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