Praise song for the day

On this wonderful, wonderful day, when all of us – sitting at home curled up in a blanket in front of television, out working but stopping to listen, on the streets and looking up at the giant screens, in a tiny village somewhere with just a sliver of knowledge of the day and the man – all of us, everywhere, in every corner of this troubled world, clutching at whatever we call life, eking out existences, wallowing in plenty or praying for a little…on this historic day, when all of us have been reminded of the importance of believing in ourselves, of then daring to step out, of then being audacious enough to dream, of then working working working to achieve that dream, of then taking the responsibility, of then not flinching – this post is for all of us.

I watched President Barack H Obama take the oath, and then speak, and then promise and heard the crowds, and joined in the tears and the prayers, and then was left humbled, once again, by the power of poetry. This post is for all of us, but more for Barack Obama.

Praise song for the day

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other,
catching each others’ eyes or not,
about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise.
All about us is noise and bramble,
thorn and din,
each one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in a uniform,
patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer consider the changing sky;
A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words,
Words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed;
Words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others who said,
“I need to see what’s on the other side;
I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe;
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain,
that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce,
built brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle;
praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign;
The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”
Others by first do no harm,
or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love,
love beyond marital, filial, national.
Love that casts a widening pool of light.
Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle,
this winter air,
anything can be made,
any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp –
praise song for walking forward in that light.

- Elizabeth Alexander