epiphany
YES !
My name is “Yes”
and
I am in love with you!
You With twisted legs, marching to the same places I go.
and You in the hijab, different beauty, hiding flesh, revealing ours.
Or you
plagued? blessed, I don’t know…
palsied in a moving chair, beyond ‘overcoming’,
surpassing the ‘silver’ refined by fire –
and going farther than we in the same space.
(and then there is you, oblivious to even the concept of a furnace)
I love you,
alumni, pioneers, trail blazers
women of weber
girls in the hood
You the ‘trailer park princess’ and the all American ‘country girl’
walking the halls, sharing the company of ”Iran’s exiled daughter”.
“Sons of Texas” , “boys of summer” take notes, play ball
analyze the “Veto” process – with the fatherless.
Opposing thoughts find us at the same end of
everything,
and
I love you!
Dogmatic professors and
Colorful not -so – professionals with degrees.
Young aspiring women tangled up in their unpractical shoes
and the graceful elite who stumble before all, red denial.
The elder who’s affect reaches the student long before his lecture does,
and the younger who is still certain ‘it’s all just a popularity contest’.
If angels really celebrate salvation, then
they are here, in droves.
Huddled above , eagerly awaiting each new ‘epiphany’ and lesson,
cheering for the antique repetitious ones.
I too am watching
in this place where my name was changed
from ”second class citizen” to that which I said above.
Absolutely.
This place where my ‘never’, became ‘hurry up’
and my some day, delivered.
I love you.
All of you.
Each more ignorant than the next
but willing and everyone of you
far more deserving than the last.
Opening books, writing things down on blank pieces of paper
making it mean something.
Do you know how many blank pieces of paper there are, that need to be filled?
Those that are filled that need to be read?
The ‘read’ that need to be worked.
And What of the work?. ..
You who listen and you who teach or rather – Profess
from concrete platforms that overlook the salty desert.
Nestled on the granite bench,
elevated only by the wishes and needs of the faces in the valley.
I love you,
All of you that seek to find change, becoming it, forgetting original anger.
Those with seeing eyes, learning by braille, scrapped knees.
Mute debaters, deafening expectations,
ritualistic lecture, redundant response,
and sometimes birth mingled with endless metamorphosis.
I am in love with those
and you.
You that remember segregation
and the rest who will never know it,
experiencing a new twist on an old wrong
living your generation to fix it.
Sacrificing or freely giving,
(sometimes they are the same thing)
to become, be-have.
I love you,
all of you
The one who has yet to understand the gift,
the same unaware of those nearby that secretly want to shake you.
And you, the one that just shows up!
God knows that just getting here, to this place of
such concentrated confetti-like living
is a
miracle
a gamble, a gift, a choice, a trial.
This place where personalities and sensitivities’ hold the tongue
until the dependable and critical questions allow for it’s release.
Like now, in this place
where I say:
“Berkley’ meets “Animal house’ and things get done anyway”.
Things that mold each of us, forcing the ‘major’,
and then, grace.
The minor allowing for abrupt and ‘ah ha’ moments of fear and freedom.
similar to being stuck in first gear, letting off the gas and ending up on the
dash – where…
the view is very clear.
Here on this rock, this contadictory place on a hill,
supported by sand and water,
where we think diversity is something outside of ourselves
that should be experienced,
until someone yells “youre it !”
And our faces look like they did when we were two,
all shocked and surprised and crooked like the puppy
that doesn’t understand but really wants to.
This wonderful place of Yes
where we hope to gather wisdom and knowledge,
only to discover we are those things,
in one another,
all day long.
It is not arrival, it isn’t even close
but it is an absolute,
Yes!
RocknRollpoeTRY 