—despite everything, I suppose a beautiful day
is a beautiful day.
The ol’heads on the block are playing music,
no doubt memories enshrined in notes.
There are good kids scootin’-jumpin’-runnin’
‘round mothers in nice dresses.
Even the garbage men, rough like crumbled cans,
seem to be shining
under this sun.
The problems aren’t gone,
home still hangs by a thread,
and the night waits in the corner, hungry,
but right now—
This moment of this day—
Things aren’t so bad.
I wonder if this is what it means to seize the day—except
I haven’t dared to seize it,
the day has simply reached into me;
it has pulled out the pain into the light,
and somehow
it doesn’t look so bad, there,
in the sun.