Each meeting, Scribble Sisters write. During non-Covid times, they meet and write together. Now they Zoom and write before their meeting, sharing their writings at the meeting. Generally, they write to a prompt, given before or during the meeting. The following prompt was given before the meeting on January 27, 2021, and was used to create the pieces below:

Possible Prompts:  I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am finding myself less distracted, less outraged. I discovered that I was humming. I am sleeping better. And I keep thinking of  phrases seen on posters of sunrises, blue skies, and mountain climbers.

So, the suggested prompts are phrases, song titles, or poster captions: Morning Has Broken;  Here Comes the Sun;  Take a Deep Breath; Unclench Your Jaw. Use one or more or none. But think about how much difference a week has made for you.

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Inauguration Day by Claudia Dalton

Inaugural by Kathy Wagenknecht

the boiling fury of the past
four years prompted a million
women to march
the ongoing horror of children
caged torn from mothers’ arms
laws flouted
lies flourished
hate brandished as a fiery sword
hung by a thread above
precarious power of the mob
pestilence death isolation
inconsolable desolation

And yet

a stately ritual gathering
the sun-coated poet’s invocation
purple-clad emblems of remembrance
a woman of color in power and pearls
honored by imitation tradition invention
soft-spoken sincerity

a dam broken spilled over
unshed tears streamed down faces
in joy in hope in relief
light pillars of mourning
flared into fireworks
darkness split open into light
and song

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It’s a New Dawn  by Marianne DeKoven

It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life for me
And I’m feeling good

I hadn’t known just how heavy the Trump burden was until it lifted.  I hadn’t known exactly how traumatized I’d been by the Jan. 6 coup attempt until I found myself waiting for the shots of assassination as Harris and Biden stood for their oaths of office.  I hadn’t understood how desperately I needed hope until Amanda Gorman, in her bright yellow coat and bright red headband in the bright light of sunshine, rhymed and rhythmed it out in glorious language matching her own glory.

Now I’ve learned again that the worst doesn’t always happen.  I’ve learned again that nightmares aren’t the deepest truth.  I’ve learned again that even though the baddest of the bad guys will raise his head one more time when we think he’s finally dead, some final shot will finally kill him (unless it’s one of those horror movies that has to have a sequel).

When I think of Joseph Biden sitting at the “resolute desk” in the oval office, with his lovely family pictures behind him and that beautiful bust of César Chavez behind the pictures, with his excellent and correct Executive Orders piled on the side and he Biden in the act of signing one of them, I feel a welling feeling, joy spilling over the sides of its container, pride rising up inside me and bursting out the top.  He’s doing what should and must be done.  He’s not just the antidote but the way forward.

When I think of Kamala Harris about to preside over the Senate instead of the self-styled grim reaper, she so calm, cool and poker-faced as she shot bolts of brilliance at those lying witnesses, she of the glorious smile and the white and the purple, she who stands straight, shoulders back chest forward, she whose voice is a balm, I feel such a profound relief that there she is, she is there, one of us to so very many, including the largest “us” who wish her well, who wish both of them well, who wish them greatest success and monumental world-changing accomplishment.

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My Country, Where Are We? by Judy Kniffin
(based very loosely on the national hymn written in 1831 by Samuel Francis Smith)

My Country, ’tis of thee,
Land rent by liberties,
Of Thee I sing,
Land, which has duly borne,
New life to bless the morn,
Might we your gifts adorn,
And sweet thanks bring!
Earth, least of which is land,
Molten rock, water, sand,
Glimpse of life past, so grand,
Or not…nor wing.
Might we restrain our need,
Earth’s blessed gifts to bleed,
Our wanton lusts to feed,
Slow dying, cling.
Hope is our springboard leap,
Then on to purpose creep,
Nor may we pause for sleep,
Let wisdom ring!

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Canary Yellow Beacon by Berta Winiker

     Morning has broken AND here comes the sun. January 20, 2021.

This inaugural vision, this deep balm to my aching soul, commands my attention.

Ensconced in the most unforgettable yellow, this breath of spring appears. Her spirit bursts forth and broadcasts a beacon of hope.

Those expressive hands dance in the air in balletic moves that mesmerize, energize and mobilize. Neurons and adrenaline are marching to beat the band on my end.

Amanda Gorman’s message is all revelation. A completely unknown person to me (until about two hours later thanks to YouTube and Facebook). Her message – hopeful, beckoning, prayerful, arousing. Delivered with urgency, a call to action, staccato.

The canary represents joy, freedom and intellectual development. The canary is regarded as a symbol of light and illumination. Was her canary yellow coat (the description I gave to the color as soon as I saw it) a coincidence, an intention, or simply her favorite color.

This wise young woman, light years beyond her age, so gifted. Such promise for our country, such potential to influence youth. Bearing witness to her five-minute message to America has restored my hope that there will be some light in 2021.

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