I imagined the Wednesday world.
Light seeping into my eyes.
arriving on the ground.
Dry and yellow leaves
surprised with dew.
and the crystal sounds of shattering.
Dew like tears of relief
for women and for men;
a pencil underlining the name of Hillary.
Surely there would have been threats
from the twisted voice of Trump,
the prince of clamoring confusion and pain.
Acid to be neutralized in laboratories carefully.
Surely there would have been worries still;
and along with Hamlet, thoughts of
“all the natural shocks the flesh is heir to.”
Surely the earth would have continued
to be full of depletion, decay, as the world
must do as we use it up.
But instead thoughts of Dylan Thomas;
“Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea”
Tears come still and dew and humming light.
And though caught in fear, in sorrow
for a season, seasons always turn toward spring
and night to morning.
And my spirit ascending with words of Maya Angelou,
I’ll claim my place:
“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.”
“A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.”
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