Give

Outside, less cars line the streets, and

You can almost see them pulling into driveways

Somewhere else, then greetings at the door,

the easy embrace of family and the coming meal.

Turning onto Main Street, closed signs hang unturned

And cement carries few footprints, product rowed

Neatly along window displays anxious for tomorrow

When hands might reach to close the circle.

A stillness buoys tree limbs, dusting fall leaves

With occasional breath. Sunlight reaches slightly harder

To warm those lesser corners, giving wayward

Seeds the chance to sprout.

But none of these define the difference these mornings

Unravel, it is something hidden, unknowable,

The way children find their way home against the tide,

Sometimes against their own understanding.

On these days there is an agreement, something

Like a pact whose signed lines commit us

To better behavior, a National truce carried out

In a series of simple gestures.

And one wonders, on these days, on the days

We’ve decided on finer sentiments, why this truce

Can’t reach it’s timeline fingertips a bit further,

A few days, a month, a year.

One might wonder why this fascination with

Fleeting joy, why value is measured in rarity,

Why an artist’s commodity rises in price

Only when they can no longer produce it.

Today is not like those other days, those days

Of trained postures, of status and bottom lines.

Today is longer, safer, a more simple reflection

Of all the things we want but complicate away

On those other days.