Tuesday...Fun...day...

Okay, sorry, this Monday didn't work out so well as the past few. But it's only like 30 minutes into Tuesday, so I'll just pretend. (This has also brought to my attention that I haven't posted in a week. I'll try to get back to it soon! Been having too much fun bumming around with my roommates now that I'm back...)

Today's fun thing is a poem written by Elizabeth Alexander for Barack Obama's inauguration. No matter what opinions you hold about the current President, I think this is a cool piece of writing. It's been on my mind lately as I've been considering the joy with which I desire to face each and every day. At some points in my life, I realize anew that today was not promised to me, and I get up each morning with gratitude in my heart towards God for one more day I get to breathe and laugh and move, one more day I can make someone else laugh, one more day I can touch a life, one more day I get to love. And I notice all the beautiful small things.

I think this poem is about that state of being- remembering what has come before, and experiencing joy for the day that now exists. For today is all we are given.

Hope you enjoy. :)

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Praise Song for the Day

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
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 considers 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 some one 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 thyself,
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 pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.