Dear Justin,
Congratulations are in order.
A landslide victory for the virtuous red wave.
A collective spring of hope among the masses,
These discordant diversities untwisted and seemingly united within the folds of a thing called a ballot
Dear Justin, before we get too comfortable with each other, let me just say...
I'm guilty, for I've relinquished perspective
in the interests of "For he's a jolly good fellow"
a sad sad song; nevertheless, the band played on.
Justin, you're such a handsome man!
They now play for you, on the lands where "A Canada I can be proud of" echoes something profoundly reckless,
in the sepulchral sights, sounds,
and sighhhhhhhhs...
of our Native children,
coming forth in whispery wispy smudging,
through the cracks and crevices of hallowed grounds that mark these beauties' untimely expirations.
Though timely for you, Justin. Indeed.
And me too, for there is so much comfort and convenience in daily living,
So easy to forget all the misery of INconvenient truths
Your father left you with his legacy meticulously inscribed in grandiose form-latures as in...
"Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law"...
The words flowed like bubbly in the marbled and much marveled halls of colonial idolatry,
but all this time, the bubbly was blood...
of the thousands?
Multi-cultis like me, I remain hopelessly distracted by the illusory winds-of-change farce
And, Justin, your seemingly kind-looking face,
Canada knows comedy, eh
I smile. I feel the ebb and flow of something like tears - an instinct to cry in elation
But I do this because I'm reacting to tear-jerker manipulations and machinations...
at the sight of such deceitfully large gatherings of people,
cheering and lamenting TOGETHER AS ONE
such a..
such a bittersweet win, for political blood had to be spilled, too
Even though, really, really, we're one and the same man
But the ones in Orange, poor souls, skins not thick enough to weather the storms of social media dissatisfactions
Yet, what does it matter, Justin?
We're one and the same man,
something akin to a secret boy's club where not even the best and brightest boys are permitted to enter
because knowing any or many of its malevolence will unconscionably put the innocents in a bad way, and they too will become compost
like the disappearance and disintegration...
of the thousands?
Your angelic-wing-tipped feet walk on the earthy dust that was once full-bodied women with joys, sorrows, herstories, and other strange magical and mellow tellings,
Red dresses hanging in photoshopped shadows do no justice
And Justin, neither does your red wave tsunami
Because all I'll ever see is blood, on your hands, on my hands, on your hands, on my hands
Dear Justin, you now have the power to rip apart the shimmering shiny chimera you and I,
we've created,
You now can finally tell me,
"Ha ha, it was all a joke. A weensy experiment that went on for far too long."
You now can be the first ever leader of this palimpsest of worlds and words,
to uncover the stories and breathings...
annihilated.
exterminated.
invalidated.
massacred.
beyond recognition.
Beyond recognition...
of the thousands?
And of their lands. And of their dreams. And of their gifts to a humanity that might have evolved.
The thousands?
Who we will never get back.
Because they.
unlike you, and me, Justin.
They don't come, have never come, in waves.
