{"id":500,"date":"2019-08-04T23:08:02","date_gmt":"2019-08-04T23:08:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/?p=500"},"modified":"2019-09-08T02:29:42","modified_gmt":"2019-09-08T02:29:42","slug":"once-upon-a-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lineriderpress.com\/headlinepoetry\/2019\/08\/04\/once-upon-a-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Once Upon a Time | Lisa Weber"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

image: panel 52 of <\/em>The Migration Series<\/em><\/a><\/strong> (1940-41) by Jacob Lawrence<\/em>. PLEASE visit<\/em> art book <\/em><\/a>for an understanding of Lawrence’s original caption for his work: “One of the largest race riots occurred in East St. Louis.”  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

by Lisa Weber<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a time when I could watch the 
news without shaking and crying. 

There was a time when the reporter's 
words wouldn't pierce right through 
me \u2014 each name read in memoriam 
like a bullet to my chest. 

There was a time when my 
heart wasn't constantly 
breaking \u2014 every crack 
echoing like gunfire. 

There was a time when it didn't feel like 
hell had somehow penetrated the 
border between here and there \u2014 the 
poisonous fumes of hate and anger 
seeping through the cracks in our 
humanity. 

There was a time when I didn't worry about my 
husband, my son, about everyone I love being 
murdered\u2014shot down at work or school or 
church or the grocery store or the movies or a 
bar or a concert or any place they thought was 
safe. A time when sanctuary wasn't a land far, 
far away. 

There was a time when I didn't break down because 
my son texted to say his school was on lockdown 
and it wasn't a drill and I was unable to do anything 
except hold my husband's hand and wait to hear that 
everything was ok and it was just a false alarm. A 
time when I didn't fear letting my son walk out the 
door. 

There was a time when I didn't have to write these 
words, when I didn't have to dedicate every prayer 
to the victims of another mass shooting. 

There was a time. Wasn't <\/em>
there? <\/em><\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Lisa Lerma Weber<\/em> is a wife, mother, and writer holding on tight to dreams and hope.  <\/strong>
Note of inspiration:  <\/strong>“I am female. of Hispanic-Filipino descent. Great-granddaughter of immigrants. A mother. My heart breaks and my soul aches and I write to deal with and to fight against the violence and racism plaguing this country.”<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
#poetsoftherevolution<\/p>\n
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