Social Justice Poetry

Heidi Seaborn

Five Stages of Grief Post Election 2016 | A Social Justice Poem by Heidi Seaborn

Denial: To wake up, shake off the nightmare as an illusion, a trick of the brain. I saw a brain last night in its raw form, watched a surgeon randomly slice the frontal lobe off and proclaim, “That’s how a lobotomy works.”

Anger: Pitchforks disappeared with family farms and agriculture jobs. This angry American mob sharpens its words against the whetstone of the Internet. Click. Post.

Bargaining: Let this father stay here, his children are young, He
works hard at a job no one else wants. He is a good man.

Depression: To wake up spooning the nightmare, entangled with this
dark lover who twists his tentacles around your wrists and ankles,
rolls onto your chest, punishing your breath.

Acceptance: That happened.

Poets Needed | A Social Justice Poem by Heidi Seaborn

The world needs poets to create gardens
from stinking compost and the bitter seeds
of this season’s harvest, to dig with our bare
hands into the moldy refuse, loosen air
into the soil, thumb seeds and bulbs
in orderly tracks, cover gently and soak
until the dirt compacts again.

Months after a new President’s sworn in,
snow recedes into grey slush.
Then the poets’ work emerges
in vibrant green nubs and shoots.
Out of the softening earth grow white
snow drops and fragrant hyacinths, blue
crocus, crested iris and red tulips. Dogwood
and cherry trees burst brilliant overhead.