November 22, 2010 05:25 PM UTC

11/22

•  
• by: JO

Latin class. Amo, amas, amat, ama…

Unexpectedly before “we love,” a voice from the wall: “The President has been shot.” An hour later, the same voice again: “The President is dead.”

Every detail still sharp: best friend, pacing, frowning. A known twit expressing pleasure that Jack was lost. Everything lost in the fog of time past.

How many of these moments can there be in one life?

  Jack.

  Martin.

  Bobby.

Forty years later, almost exactly, since Bobby: Great good fortune to have a seat to hear the acceptance speech at Invesco. Suddenly, without warning, a feeling lost in Dallas, lost in Memphis, lost in Los Angeles, floods back: He is your leader, JO. Follow him. Yes, he can, you can, we can.

Mistakes have been made, will be made. Turn left, Barack! Turn left! We slog on, no other choice. God Save America from Ouigotcha Ubetcha.

Amidst fresh nightmares, we still dream. At the memory, on this day, we still weep. In his memory, and Martin’s, and Bobby’s, we carry on.

Amamus, Jack.