"The Barricade" by Karen Gritter

By a good friend and theologian/poet … Karen Gritter

The Barricade

 "I stand at the door and knock"

The door is shut

The bar in place       

Rusted the lock

Lost the key

Black the blood

Upon  the ground

And on the door

Where your slave was bound  

And tortured long

Until she died

Her spirit fled

And does not haunt

The place beyond

Where hope awaits

But in the dark

A lonesome lark

With broken wing

Who cannot sing

A casualty of hate

Which did never abate

They speak of love

But it seems too late

This Day, 1963.

I was studying in the library (Calvin College, Grand Rapids), when a student came to the table and said, "The President has been shot!" I replied, "Okay, what's the punch line?" thinking it was some kind of macabre  joke. He made it clear - no joke. I quickly left the library for the Commons and a TV. A friend recalls me stepping into a classroom and saying, "The President's been shot!" (I don't recall that moment), but I remember lots of tears that day in the Commons. And then at home in the following days - no one doing anything. As if the nation was paralyzed. My parents were Republicans; I don't recall their reaction, if any, but we had TV on the entire time. Nor do I recall any specific emotion on my part, but I recall being distressed. Did I weep? I don't know. But I weep today. His death, a serious loss to our political health and vision.