Fri, Mar 20, 2026, 9:46 AM

These are unsettled times in the third month of the year. That feels like an understatement even though the facts on the ground, support it.

Here in Minneapolis, January was marked by ICE - occupation, mass protest, and neighborhood organized resistance in sub-zero weather. February whiplashed between a notorious Minnesota “False Spring” and winter’s stubborn refusal to leave. March began without a traditional Hockey or Basketball Tournament blizzard but then it showed up last weekend with whiteout blowing snow and highway closures that stretched from Faribault, MN to Kansas City. More on that later.

I have been writing a poem a week in response to what for me, felt and still feels like an occupation. Small moments memorializing the disconnect between trying to live everyday life and the tragedy of a government that, in effect, would rather kill its citizens than be accountable for their violation of the Bill of Rights.

I was not alone in turning pen to paper to respond to the circumstance we were living, Ian Graham Leask, Calumet Editions’ Publisher put out a call and “ICE OUT – Minnesota Writers Rising Up” followed. I have two poems in that book and you can read them along with many others via the usual on-line suspects or from your local bookstore.

Here is one of mine that is not in that collection:

Three inches of new snow fell last night.

The temp crossed 0 on this marking of Imbolic in the ancient tradition.

Tomorrow is Candlemas in the Christian coopting of that older purification.

It is also Groundhog Day which is best celebrated by a movie of the same name.

The first brutal month of this year is over

Two deaths, 50K people marching in -20 to say “Ice out!”.

Day after day warning whistles and the sound of tear gas on icy streets.

God bless the smart phone videos for they are our witness.

In another room Frank Sinatra is singing about hope.

In her office, my sweetie is writing a check for the mortgage.

In the next neighborhood they keep lights off, their voices hushed.

Even so, they hum the songs of comfort and solidarity.

We turn to the incremental warming sun.

Wish upon a star, which might be a helicopter spotlight.

In the tradition we say to those who will listen, we shall overcome.

Say to ourselves, we are the ones we have been waiting for.

For the American School of Storytelling these last few months have offered their own challenges with a correlation between ICE, cold and AMSS resulting in a drop off of in-person classes. Folks are hunkering down, avoiding possible engagements with the occupation though we have repeatedly come out in the bitter cold to observe, document, and protest the masked belligerents. Our on-line classes continued apace. Our “ICE not welcome without a judicial warrant” sign went up, our door remained locked with me opening it for folks coming to performances and open mics.

We added a “Witness Open Mic” on the first Monday of the month, to provide a platform for folks to share stories, poems, songs, practical advice, testimony to what they have seen, felt, fear, hope.  At the first one, 22 people showed up, 12 spoke including instructions on how to limit/diminish your digital footprint, the whistle code (and offering free whistles), and a Finnish lament where the audience joined in singing the chorus. Most importantly, afterwards they talked with each other. We had a similar response to our second gathering.

Forecast Public Art announced that they were offering a $1000 grant for artists responding to the occupation. I applied on behalf of the AMSS’s “Witness Open Mic” and got one. Thanks, is a small word but a big sentiment. Thanks for the support, thanks for the acknowledgement of the value of the narrative arts in these unsettled times.

In spite of the media’s acceptance of the idea that the occupation is over, ICE is still here and still masked. Neighbors who organized to protect and protest those poorly trained thugs who went from allegedly finding the “worst of the worst” to racist kidnapping of brown and black folks without regard for their citizenship status are still here. The opportunity to build community through our “Witness Open Mic” is still needed and so we continue.

The tension between the larger political frame and everyday life is large but the great wobble continues the tilt towards spring and summer after in spite of human intention or inattention. Whether this winter was worse or better is entirely and subjectively on us. Nature does what it will according to a cosmic clockwork that cares not what humans desire and given our propensity for violence and denial, will go on long after we have killed ourselves off.

Our intention was to go to the 41^st Annual Tejas Storytelling Festival. Teach a workshop, host a variation on “Two Chairs Telling”, tell a few stories, see old friends, catch a preview of the coming green. All that happened but while we were there the awareness of a massive March blizzard marching through Minnesota was suggesting that we should leave early on Sunday to try to get as far as we could before the roads closed. That stopping point was Kansas City and indeed for all intents and purposes Iowa and southern Minnesota were closed. I-35 from KC to Des Moines was “iffy” and beyond Des Moines the high winds and white out conditions made travel dangerous, if not impossible, at least as far as i-90.

We spent the day in KC. The Nelson-Atkins Museum in the afternoon and a RAW Stories Open Mic in the evening at the Black Box Theater. To my surprise, Mary Schmidt (AKA Red n Ringo) a storyteller I have known for many years was there. She said that she had been following our travels on FB and had thought to tell us to come and I responded that since we are always interested in local storytelling, here were were. She also introduced me to Audrey Crabtree, the Executive Director of the KC Fringe. Good conversation and stories were the highlight of the night.

Today is the second day of Spring. Yesterday it was sunny and in the 50’s. Today it is gray and in the 30’s. The season is not quite settled in. Still, life proceeds and as I said, the wobble will bring us to a fulsome April in due time. If you’ve read this far, congratulations on enduring/celebrating or just passing through the fallow season.

Here is another poem to end this missive:

Three Wishes

Turning side to side in search of a comfort

That comes before sleep, I review oft made

Three wishes. Oh, I confess they are not

The same wishes night after night but still,

The classic wished upon a star or something

still wanting that rough magic we are owed

Or the improbable made manifest in moonlight.

One is always for enough: food, comfort, work,

Joy, love or money though I know enough is

A slippery slope when my intention is to give

Away most of that to those who least expect it.

Then the wish for time enough to finish what

I have begun, even to puzzling out something

That will take years to finish but worth the effort.

The third is ephemeral, a small bird fluttering

At the window, saying, let me in that I might find

Rest, a wish not more than a shadow of beating wings,

A half heard tuneless song I will not sing come morning.

That third I cannot remember is the big one, sure

To be granted if only I could speak it upon waking,

Or even speak it before that dreaming I sought arrives.

I wish you well - health, happiness, the joy of making a better world.