“CRAFTIVISM”
ELENA LEE
I was not born for street marches or political campaigns
I prefer using piano chords to my vocal chords
My hands can color and create, but not fight
You have a heart on your sleeve and a voice that carries
Bright eyes and a hunger for justice
You command Respect, and I can only sing it
Your lungs were made for advocacy; mine, musicality
Yes, I am quiet but not silent
Subtle but not apathetic
I envision a future of blazing trails and planting trees
In tandem, working to amplify voices and
encourage them to be told in poetic outlets
I’ll sew buttons on your blazers, and embroider logos on flags
The stitches, a testament and vow to the cause and the time it deserves
I can write your campaign songs and play piano for your fundraisers
The notescrooning, coaxing money out of deep pockets and hard hearts
I can arrange wildflowers on banquet tables, and choose company colors that match the hues of the sunset
Drawing inspiration from the community as you invest in its development
I’ll paint sweeping murals on your newly renovated buildings
Fighting for form and function alike in the face of survival and disinterest
An eye for beauty does not mean a blind one to oppression
I can portray honesty, creatively. And passion, colorfully. So we’ll live with paint on my hands and blood on your knuckles
Because injustice wins when art is deemed trivial, and art; unnecessary
And I have no intention of letting it claim victory
“THE GUARDIANSHIP OF CALIFORNIA”
CLARA PAUL
Do you remember Easter Sunday?
When we sat on your brother’s trampoline
Your arms were holy, white and unclean
Child, why have you shown your scars to me
I couldn’t stand to stare at your porcelain face
I counted the tears I measured the grace
In those early morning hours bathed by night
I had wondered what peace you had denied
And I will sit still with you
And show you how you’ve been
How you have changed my scene
Do you remember the years of silence
When you sat in dark rooms of unrest
Those patches of blue and black evanesce
Where have you gone and come back again
And I will sit still with you
And show you how you’ve been
How you have changed my scene
Now your son has been clinging to you
And you are singing to his auburn eyes
When California emerged, were you through?
I present my cup and wait for him to rise
