Look up.
Somewhere, a family of trees pickets outside a skyscraper.
A pair of benches carves out a mirror haven for two.
Somewhere else, a plug dangles unbothered,
not being used,
and still, the world continues.
I was alone when I saw this.
You weren’t there.
But you could be.
Could’ve been.
~
A hop, a skip away,
a sign diverts trucks.
Which means someone thought about the size,
the weight of what they carry.
There’s a place for them to go.
Sometimes I wish life worked like that—
with signs that show us what to do
with what we carry,
with what the world gives us to carry.
A friend wrote a poem echoing that question:
Are we even built to receive?
To hold the hard things?
To be both container and release?
Sometimes I wonder
if comfort lives in the space between hop and skip,
a quiet step, nearly missed,
where possibility waits.
~
I’ve been seeing more and more people
who couldn’t be prouder to be American.
They wear it on their shirts.
Some wave flags the size of their truck b…
