Elizabeth Alexander's Poem for Today

I love the tradition of poetry being read at inaugurations. Words are potent, are powerful. They give shape to our thoughts and sensations, they change our consciousness with complex simplicity. Poetry is the mindful/soulful use of words and images. Wasn't this morning poetry itself?

This moning there was an ocean of words and images, coming in waves that brought relentless tears. Poetry was part of today. Today was and is poetry. My family, the cats, the downstair's neighbor and his dog all gathered around our television to bear witness to the change of power. The warm sun of San Francisco streamed in the window, yet we yearned towards the exhilarating cold of Washington. I know that in the future, I will remember feeling and seeing my breath in icy crystals, although the truth is that the only air made visible was the steam rising from my hot coffee. Nevertheless, I know I will remember us all as one, in the cold sharp sparkle of our capitol, cheering for the promissory note that was delivered today.

On Brigid, poetry will fill the blogosphere. Today, poetry spilled across our nation and perhaps, the whole world. I print here Elizabeth Alexander's poem she read at the inauguration. While she read it, the camera went to the crowds, and then, to birds flying above in the cold winter sky.

There is magic in every sentence we begin. There is magic in this poem.

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 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 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.