Old Glory. New Magic.
Old Glory. New Magic.
from $75.00
What is Love?
I asked the streets of Minneapolis
while January was sharpening the air
into something you could almost cut your hands on.
The city took a long breath and said, “Watch.”
She pointed to boots pounding courage into frozen pavement.
She pointed to 50,000 people who traded warm couches
for airplane seats and long drives
just to stand shoulder to shoulder
and breathe clouds of steam into the cold
like a congregation praying the living into safety.
“Love looks like David and Jeana,” she said,
and then she kept naming names..
Neighbors who zipped their coats
and stepped outside
because somebody else’s door was about to be kicked in.
She handed me coffee
strong enough to argue with sleep
and said, “Love is also the people who stay awake
while the trucks drive through the dark
looking for names they do not know how to say.”
The city leaned closer.
"By now I hope you can see,” she said. “That Love is rarely soft.”
Sometimes Love has shoulders.
Sometimes it has teeth.
Sometimes it is loud enough to make the glass ribs of downtown towers
vibrate like tuning forks for a better country.
And then she smiled ,
the way rivers smile right before the ice breaks.
“And sometimes,” she said,
“Love is less about saying no than it is about taking something back.”
So she took me walking.
Past the winter coats.
Past the cardboard prayers.
Past 50,000 breaths
rising into the sky like the city had grown a second sky.
And there it was: the stars and stripes
swaying gently from a hockey stick.
Old Glory looking like New Magic.
Which, if you know us folk here in Sota,
that makes perfect sense.
Because in this place we understand two holy things:
how to survive the cold
and
how to carry sacred objects forward
regardless of the ice that tries to make us stop.
The longer we stayed in that space,
the more something about those old colors changed in me.
The stars stopped looking like badges of authority.
They looked like porch lights
left burning for whoever is still trying to find their way home.
The stripes stopped marching.
They started flowing like winter rivers
that refuse to forget how to move.
The flag stopped being this mascot
for angry men who mistake cruelty for patriotism.
It was what it always should have been:
a banner for neighbors who have decided
that Love
is larger
than fear.
When seen like that,
the flag looked less like history
and more like possibility.
Less like ownership
and more like invitation.
Because Love doesn’t abandon the symbols
that were meant for everyone.
Love takes them back.
Love polishes them with breath and courage until they shine again.
Until a crowd of 50,000 strangers
standing in the cold can look up together
and see not a warning
but a promise still being written between the towers in the winter light.
Love sees that the most American thing we can do
is to refuse to let each other disappear.
All proceeds from this print will go towards Stand With Minnesota
• 1.25″ (3.18 cm) thick poly-cotton blend canvas
• Canvas fabric weight: 10.15 +/- 0.74 oz./yd.² (344 g/m² +/- 25g/m²)
• Fade-resistant
• Hand-stretched over solid wood stretcher bars
• Mounting brackets included
• Blank product sourced from the US, Canada, Europe, UK, or Australia
This product is made especially for you as soon as you place an order, which is why it takes us a bit longer to deliver it to you. Making products on demand instead of in bulk helps reduce overproduction, so thank you for making thoughtful purchasing decisions!
I asked the streets of Minneapolis
while January was sharpening the air
into something you could almost cut your hands on.
The city took a long breath and said, “Watch.”
She pointed to boots pounding courage into frozen pavement.
She pointed to 50,000 people who traded warm couches
for airplane seats and long drives
just to stand shoulder to shoulder
and breathe clouds of steam into the cold
like a congregation praying the living into safety.
“Love looks like David and Jeana,” she said,
and then she kept naming names..
Neighbors who zipped their coats
and stepped outside
because somebody else’s door was about to be kicked in.
She handed me coffee
strong enough to argue with sleep
and said, “Love is also the people who stay awake
while the trucks drive through the dark
looking for names they do not know how to say.”
The city leaned closer.
"By now I hope you can see,” she said. “That Love is rarely soft.”
Sometimes Love has shoulders.
Sometimes it has teeth.
Sometimes it is loud enough to make the glass ribs of downtown towers
vibrate like tuning forks for a better country.
And then she smiled ,
the way rivers smile right before the ice breaks.
“And sometimes,” she said,
“Love is less about saying no than it is about taking something back.”
So she took me walking.
Past the winter coats.
Past the cardboard prayers.
Past 50,000 breaths
rising into the sky like the city had grown a second sky.
And there it was: the stars and stripes
swaying gently from a hockey stick.
Old Glory looking like New Magic.
Which, if you know us folk here in Sota,
that makes perfect sense.
Because in this place we understand two holy things:
how to survive the cold
and
how to carry sacred objects forward
regardless of the ice that tries to make us stop.
The longer we stayed in that space,
the more something about those old colors changed in me.
The stars stopped looking like badges of authority.
They looked like porch lights
left burning for whoever is still trying to find their way home.
The stripes stopped marching.
They started flowing like winter rivers
that refuse to forget how to move.
The flag stopped being this mascot
for angry men who mistake cruelty for patriotism.
It was what it always should have been:
a banner for neighbors who have decided
that Love
is larger
than fear.
When seen like that,
the flag looked less like history
and more like possibility.
Less like ownership
and more like invitation.
Because Love doesn’t abandon the symbols
that were meant for everyone.
Love takes them back.
Love polishes them with breath and courage until they shine again.
Until a crowd of 50,000 strangers
standing in the cold can look up together
and see not a warning
but a promise still being written between the towers in the winter light.
Love sees that the most American thing we can do
is to refuse to let each other disappear.
All proceeds from this print will go towards Stand With Minnesota
• 1.25″ (3.18 cm) thick poly-cotton blend canvas
• Canvas fabric weight: 10.15 +/- 0.74 oz./yd.² (344 g/m² +/- 25g/m²)
• Fade-resistant
• Hand-stretched over solid wood stretcher bars
• Mounting brackets included
• Blank product sourced from the US, Canada, Europe, UK, or Australia
This product is made especially for you as soon as you place an order, which is why it takes us a bit longer to deliver it to you. Making products on demand instead of in bulk helps reduce overproduction, so thank you for making thoughtful purchasing decisions!
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