You Are the Salt of the Earth

                                    (AP Photos, John Locher)

A chill wind whistles

through the ice-covered streets.

Salt melts ice, you know,

and those who show up

are surely salty folk ~

well-seasoned by

witness and worry and woe.

They know where they stand,

and how to walk confidently

in slippery conditions,

these unlikely warriors who brandish

salt shakers as swords and

whistling warnings as shields.

A voice cries out

from the frigid alley wilderness:

    Heaven and Hell are here, now!

    You choose.

    Faithful-freeing or fear-filled freezing?

A brown-skinned preacher,

small of stature and mighty of word,

emerges slowly, donning a parka

and taking to the streets.

He has always loved the streets

and the people who dwell there.

They tried to ice him out once before, you know,

way back when he dared to open his arms

to the outcasts and the shamed and the strangers.

Today they just freeze his words into

an icily hardened hollow of hate,

cloaking them in diamond-studded prayer-farce

as they plot their latest chaotic cruelty.

He is so tired of being misquoted.

Weeping as he blesses the bodies, he speaks out clearly:

    Blessed are the peacemakers.

    Blessed are you when they insult you and

    persecute you and falsely say all kinds of

    evil against you because of

    me.

The words bounce off the ground as 

his face slams into the ice.

Shackled and cuffed, he is led away since

he is, of course, undocumented

and saying dangerous things.

Faithful whistles fill the air as

he calls out to his friends:

    If they do these things in the green wood,

    what will happen in the dry?

    DON'T LET THEM! DON'T LET THEM!

    SPILL THE SALT!

Grandma's Green Card

This is for everyone who thinks that ICE's current cruelty and chaos have nothing to do with them. "If they would just follow the rules, there wouldn't be a problem," they say. That is simply not true.

Flashback to 1952 and a simple mistake. 

Our grandmother, Rose Riconosciuto, was a legal resident of the United States. In 1920, she entered the country from Italy at Ellis Island, 24 years old, newly wed, and three months pregnant with my mother. I suspect she didn't share that detail with the officers there, or she might have been denied entry into the country. Anyway, she was a green card holder for most of her long life, until her kids arranged for her to become a U.S. citizen on her 100th birthday.

In 1952, she apparently forgot to register as a resident alien. She was threatened with prosecution, due to this oversight; however, when our grandfather, who was a naturalized citizen, sent in a sworn statement, explaining the situation and committing to being more diligent in the future, prosecution was deferred. It was a reasonable decision, based on her long, productive residency in the U.S., her strong family ties, and her acknowledgement that she had made a mistake. See letter below.

Rose's alien registration from 1942:

Just imagine how this would have played out in our current dystopian reality. Would masked ICE thugs have bashed in her door? Dragged her out of her home in handcuffs? Detained her when she came in for her appointment? Imprisoned her where her family couldn't find her? Sent her back to a country she'd left 32 years earlier? If you watch the news at all, you know that none of these scenarios is exaggerated, and things like this are happening every day, to people in very similar situations. 

We are a nation with a complicated, often cruel, history. We are also a nation of opportunity, ideals, and hope for immigrants, a place where many come to try to build a new life. That is my family's story, and it is the story of so many of us. Stand up. Listen to the stories of the immigrants of 2026, not the lies being told about them. Speak out for the rule of law. Speak out for the ancestors, many of whom endured the same slurs we hear directed at immigrants today. 

We must not turn away. Stand up. Speak out.

Her Dog Was in the Car

Sweet old dog, she called me

whenever I snuggled up

close to her and my boy.

She promised me a walk

when we got home

and maybe a belly rub, too.

She gives the best belly rubs.

I love her and I don't know where she is.

                        Fuckin' bitch, he said.

I don't know why they were so angry.

My mom never stops smiling

and if I whine just right

she always gives me treats.

Why were their faces covered?

Why were they yelling?

She said she wasn't mad at them.

Why did the big one try to hurt us?

I think maybe he did hurt my mom

because she hasn't come back.

                        Fuckin' bitch, he spewed.

I was glad we were leaving

because I was scared.

I cowered and tried to hide.

I cried and kept thinking that

if I just stayed real still,

we could go on that walk

when we got home.

Belly rub-treats-walk-sweet old dog-

I'm not mad at you-pop!-POP!-POP!

                        Fuckin' bitch, he shot.

Gone.

I wish she would come back

to take me on that walk.

Sweet old dog, she called me...

In memory of Renee Good, murdered by ICE on January 7, 2026.

May her memory be a blessing.