I GOT IT!

Everyone was a buzz after the Inaugural poem. Most people say they hated it, and if I heard another person ask "what does she mean when she speaks of the hands that picked the cotton and the lettuce. Where did lettuce come from?"

Lettuce is a part of OUR history people. That was a tribute to the many Hispanic brothers and sisters who pick or picked lettuce in the sun for menial wages to make ends meet. If you really listened... that statement could be a shot at John McCain. Who in early 08 made that stupid statement to the Union workers about how Hispanics do the work no one wants and asked the mostly white union workers if they would pick lettuce for $50 an hour. I see where he was going... (kinda) I consider myself pretty smart and not quick to react. But to many of those in the Hispanic community, that statement minimized them and what they stand for to low budget lettuce pickers as opposed to humans with purpose, opinions and dreams.

I'm know first hand as a black women Ive felt like a lettuce picker when someone reduced my intelligence to a mere statement

"You are so articulate"

Thanks but no thanks is what I want to say....

Even the lettuce or cotton picker deserves respect. They deserve to be acknowledged. CORRECTLY

Like ALL the people that have made our history. They deserve to see that a minority can be respected, that the burdens they carried over the years were not in vain. That WE are smart enough to know that words mean nothing.

ACTIONS carry the weight

I think people's curiosity behind that small statement (about the lettuce) sums up where we are as a country.

We have come so far, yet we still have much to learn. (at least we all knew who did the cotton picking)

WE

All have to educate ourselves on our history. We have to become enlightened about our government, our rights, and most importantly our duties as American citizens.

I think until we understand EVERYONES struggle (Blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Asians, WOMEN) The Light that should illuminate the TRUE significance of our 44 th president

will be dim.

Barack Obama is a wonderful, man.

The epitome of what a black man CAN and SHOULD be.

but....

HE ISN'T JESUS YALL!

We ALL have some of his same qualities and powers within. We just gotta tap into them.

If his position as commander in chief doesn't say anything else to us all it should say:

No matter what your circumstances are You can make something of yourself.

I closed my eyes last night with a renewed spirit and sense of pride. I woke up today thinking about what my duties are to assist OUR country in being successful over the next few years.

I made some personal pledges that I surely intend to keep.

I heard what the poet (Elizabeth Alexander) said and my praise song will come in the form of service

I heard what MY President said

I LISTENED

and I GOT IT!

Lets do this yall!

Love yall

Stay Relevant

ShellZ

BELOW IS THE POEM............

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.