I was there at my daughter’s
church basement school
the day the voting machines came

Seven days to the election
men wheeled them in,
two machines draped and covered
and one American flag
wrapped tight to its pole

In a corner by the table where
the kids play with heaping
piles of rice, digging and pouring,
burying their hands,
the machines were placed

Just to see them, I was electrified
My heart jumped
I wanted to kneel and kiss
their blue painted metal sides,
these vessels of holy democracy

When school was over
I went to the room that
held these machines
and I cleaned the floor,
preparing the place
for these venerated guests

scooping handfuls of dry
raw rice from the linoleum
and returning the clean white grains
to join thousands more

One grain of rice for every stolen vote
that gave George W. Bush the Oval Office

One grain of rice for every man,
woman, and child murdered in Iraq

One grain of rice for each
Katrina victim left for dead

A grain of rice for every eternal tortured second
at Abu Ghraib, for each Guantanamo detention hour

A grain of rice for every human right,
for every stone and tree,
for the very air, raped and violated for
eight long years

Clear the way
Get out your mop and bucket
and clean the floor, because
democracy is coming

Clear the way
Intelligence is coming

Dignity is coming

Respect is coming

Clear the way for reason,
for humanity, for hope

The dust of a hundred Ohio doorsteps
still on my shoes, I washed that floor
the very floor where the voters would stand
to do their sacred work
and I washed it well

I saw those machines in the corner,
sleeping, shrouded and pregnant —
with what?

You’ve got a new birthday, America
and its name is November Fourth
Two Thousand and Eight

America, your time is coming
and what will this birth be?
Will we lie down, let the knife
of lies, of hate and oppression bring our fate?

Or will we shout out in our crowning moment
as we stand and birth our future
Give our country her deliverance
Bring to light the child conceived
in love between black and white
and hold him high
for the world to see?

Clear the way
Roll out the machines, unwrap the flag
cause for once there's gonna be
some juice in that little lever

and if you’re still and listen very close
you can hear the faint ticking heart
of democracy
still beats

* * *
Alyce Adams
December, 2008