four years ago, I watched seas of red wash over the capitol building,
fire and brimstone
and cries of American carnage
perched in the rumbled
of red and white
and a crowd of much-contested number
four years ago, I watched seas of pink wash over dc streets
and then we felt like thunder
and petticoats of storm
we swelled and shouted
and the sky turned pink
and the moon
and the steps of the White House awash in our gendered nomenclature
four years ago, felt like a reality
unbeckoned by boxes
unchecked by usual reserves of power
and these past four years
have felt equally
unbidden
like someone opened a door
a door we assumed was locked
dusty metal
and turned the handle
and discovered lawlessness
afresh beyond the border
discovered beyond the door
there were no fences
or barriers
just collect $200 when you passed go
have you ever tried to fill a moat on the beach with only your cupped hands
over and over you run to the ocean
bend down
and your hands are full with brine, and sand, and sea
one step
two step
and your hands are empty
our hands have been empty for four years
I feel like we’ve been handed a bucket finally
someone found the key to the door
instituted a guard
we stood
we withstood
I wonder if the door was meant to be opened eventually
if this was an inevitable passage of the American story
to be human is to be pushing boundaries
pushing, because all we know is forward
and backward and sideways
and movement
maybe this is why we have glass ceilings
we need something to break
to shatter
mazel tov
but today we do not hear broken glass as we did two weeks ago
today is for soul
all of my soul is in it he says
my soul
our soul
is here today
souls do not shatter, they bend and mend
they pulsate