A concert
of car horns on constant blast,
impassioned speakers,
and crowds of hundreds
casting voices into ethers–
ask me
anytime over the last several years
where a random June Saturday
in 2025 would find me,
it wouldn’t be here,
present, if not loudly decrying
a conservative president
in sometimes rain,
sometimes blazing sun.

Quiet, because I’m not yet deaf to
the conservative echoes 
laced throughout my upbringing,
which always more closely resembled
traditional Christian values.

Quiet, because I don’t come angry
but sorrowful
that what I once took pride in
now stands as a mockery
of democracy.

Quiet, because I’m still
not wholly convinced
that I’ll be accepted
if I share my whole truth,
though the Christian values
more accurately on display here,
even from those who don’t ascribe
do strengthen a human connection.

Then somebody nearby pulls out a camera.
I try to slink away but they ask
if they can take a picture.
In a split second, I have to discern
who I want to be to the world
who himself might need
a little more coaxing into comfort
given the places he is coming from.
But I didn’t attend this rally out of sheer curiosity.

It’s the natural next step
in a pilgrimage I believe
everybody should make:
to render mute the echoes that form us
and give rise to our own voices.

That picture may never leave a stranger’s phone.
Likewise, my singing
may never reach the concert,
but at least today,
I’m standing on the stage.