Make It
At my back, is the lonely winter
With its fragmented mash of would-be loathing.
The white light of consciousness, its hope, love, and despair
All engineer what I now realize: what will pass, will pass.
I cascade onto another street corner, drawing together
A following of moments, of struggles, of my newfound politics.
What is delivered in disruption, traffic, the cold, and my breath in the cold,
Turns into something vulnerable, something a single fear could swat away.
At the corner of Broadway and West 64thstreet,
Racing to make the light, racing to widen my pace, my gaze, and my heart
I hear praise. I turn my head and a mother is carrying her child
Across the street saying, “you have been so good today,” as she puts her
Down at the median. I smile. We all would like to hear those affirmations.
The second light turns green, and the numbers start descending, 25, 24, 23
I’m texting a friend. I see that same mother and daughter start to run
22, 21, 20. The mother has an open smile, compelling the length of her whole being
With song. 14, 12, 10. I hear the daughter start screaming, “We are going to make it!
We are going to make it!” Her mother takes her hand, as they step up on to the curb.
I look at them, and then I look at the light turn from 5 to 4 to 2 to 0. I think to myself
We are going to make it. I am going to make it. This day, this month. This year.
What perches, what roots, what winds and cracks
What tenses and dwells, what ails us, and what hurtles us down
Into the whistling air of despair, all will not stop us.
We are going to make it.