Death is hardest for the living.
Because we are hoarders of our clans,
protecting the like-minded with fervor.
And when they die,
it feels as if every pain they knew
Bares down on us, the living.
Perhaps in tribute,
as a reminder of the cost of love.
But, no wisdom makes the burden of emptiness less heavy.
To lose Ruth Bader-Ginsberg,
Is such a cost, that it ripples through millions of households,
And though I know her as a great Heroine of Justice,
So many will never realize the loss for themselves and their lives,
Though we walk under a dimmer sun now.
For her eighty-seven years of service,
I will learn, I will listen, I will empathize, I will act.
I will vote, especially in the face of defeat.