Hearing “Hallelujah” at the Women’s March, 2017
The sea of pink was a major lift— “You know,” I said, getting off the bus, “I used to pace alone before I knew ya.” Some people had been here before, to push against the closing doors and all the system tries to do to fool ya. Democracy was moving too— not a victory march, but not a crime. In passing, even the Guard gave their thanks to ya. Our group did our best, but it wasn’t much, wedged away to the side by the baffled crowd, but famous speakers always say the same things to ya. So we sat and snacked, and thought of how they broke our throne and didn’t care. We swore our lips would be what overthrew ya. Then next to us a circle formed, much stronger than a marble arch, and they were singing Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” We joined in, though we had no proof. We were pilgrims who had seen no light. It was cold, and not a time for “Hallelujah.” Still, we sang the truth we could not touch. Our hopes were high, love was on our tongues— a strength below from broken “Hallelujah.” Bio: Lorna Wood is a violinist and writer in Auburn, Alabama. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Right Hand Pointing, Quaranzine, Escape Wheel (great weather for MEDIA), Poetry South (Pushcart Prize nominee), Leaves of Loquat V (second prize, Loquat Literary Festival contest), Luminous Echoes (poems shortlisted for Into the Void's poetry contest), and ShufPoetry (New Pages review, 15 Dec. 2016), among others; and she was long-listed for the Erbacce Prize. Wood has also published fiction, creative nonfiction, and scholarly essays. Find her at amazon.com/author/lornawood.