We Dared To Hope

In late lamplight I watched
the crowds ripple electric,
a spirit dancing from aged hands
to youthful smiles, a song made
from laughter and deep, deep joy
that splashed over the night
in blue and white, and red-striped banners
shining triumphantly, throwing their
honored salute into the crisp November air.

With the genuine dignity of the noblest of men,
he stood before them — and me,
and the world — and spilled
saturated words out over that Chicago night,
beacons of lights that mingled
with constellations, guiding us

to speak in one voice
from New York to Nairobi, Beijing to San Francisco;
and the blood pumped through our veins,
and our eyes began to water
as we stared in awe at the sun.

And for once I felt my heart pound with theirs,
and theirs with mine,
and my untrained lips spread into a laughing smile,

and I felt big.

Today I shook the hand of a stranger on a train;
I shared a smile and a nod with a man
playing drums beneath the streets of New York;
I laughed as children played,
and raised my voice with a boy
who was shouting his name between streetlights and trees.

I felt alive today.
And we dare to hope.