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Posts Tagged ‘election’

Morning After

Again the chance to praise

the same room, the same floor,

the same view, the same tea,

the same image in the same mirror,

which today is startlingly not the same.

Again the chance to find the miracle

in the leaves that fall, the miracle

in the morning sun, the miracle

in the willows beside the pond.

Again, the chance to fall in love

with the same sky, the same field,

the same dirt, the same broken world.

Again, the chance to show up

with these same tired arms

and put them to work,

the same work as yesterday,

which is to learn to lift up,

to heal, to carry, to build,

to be in the world, to praise

the same room, the same floor,

the same view, the same tea.

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I am your daughter.

I have marched in your main street parades,

and in my yard I fly your flag.

I pledge allegiance and sing your anthem.

My uncle and grandfather fought in your wars.

My other grandfather came to your shores

as a young boy and stayed to raise your powerlines.

I climb your mountains and work your soil

and pick up trash on your highways.

I love you, America.

I vote in your polls and raise your children

and volunteer in your schools.

And because you are America,

I pay your taxes and call my senators

and protest in your streets.

I read your poets, relearn your history,

travel your back roads and cheer your teams.

You made me, America.

And I pray for you. And I pray in the way I choose to pray

because we can do that in America.

America, did we forget

our differences are what make us great?

Remember, America, the dream!

The wind is fierce today,

and I love the way it inspires the flag to wave into life.

Whatever is fierce around us is an invitation

to show up. Whatever is difficult

is a call to bring our best.

Whatever is uncertain is a chance

to be clearer in our thoughts, more generous in our speech.

America, it’s not a president

that makes our country great—

it’s us. How we treat each other.

How we meet our mistakes.

How we become the wind that raises the flag.

How our own hearts must be the home of the brave.

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And then there is
that moment after
the thrust and jostle
and sprint, after the longing
and righteousness, after the fever,
the furor, the fire, the conviction, when,
burnt out by our own
red ferocity, we see
there is nothing, nothing
to be done. There is
no defeat in this,
only release,
Then only
uncertainty is sound
enough to hold us up.
Then unknowingness is the only
place we can truly rest.

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