Golden chord

Poem discussing Aretha Franklin’s death and contribution to the civil rights movement.

Poem by Juliette Wittich

Cry freedom

Cry respect.

One golden chord struck to touch a generation.

A voice that rose to guide forward so many other voices.

On King, on Little on Parks.

One wave of sound that crashed through vinyl oceans, washing us up on a shore where a new future seemed possible.

Sung out when we were strung out on flower power and civil rights and peace.

Cry equality, cry, cry.

An echo from the soul to light the dark.

Powerhouse, muse and star.

You know who you are.

Cry beauty, cry, cry.

Lift us from our basic selves and push us one more time to be our best.

Just one more song.

Just one more song, we cry.