Use Your Words: Somewhere, Presently

In the distance, a newborn is wailing (a

strand of hair is wrapped around his

toe).

A sparrow rises to the branches bearing

beams for her babies’ nest.

A woman at a coffee cart on the sidewalk

below tells the barista —

she’ll pay for the coffee of the father

behind her with two young children.

Music drifts down from a nearby

window —

a child practices the piano in an

apartment above — they will be someone

someday,

(even though that note was supposed to

be an A-sharp, not a B).

Across the street, a tabby cat stretches,

fulfilled, in a sunbeam on the windowsill.

An elderly man sits at the wheel of his

car pondering what he will do when he

arrives home.

He misses his grandchildren; it’s been

months apart.

Miles away (but close to heart), they

sit at the their kitchen table after school

awaiting his call.

A librarian down the street introduces a

young girl to Maya Angelou

and Grace Paley — and the world

expands before her eyes.

A delivery woman buzzes past with

packages overflowing — their lavender

bike matches the flowers recently

awakened.

A ginkgo leaf falls from the tree planted

on the walkway.

Arm in arm, a couple strolls by — coffee

in hand, bubbling conversation in the air.

The sun shines, occasionally covered by

clouds floating past.

Sunbeams seep through leaves and

branches.

Then, now, and evermore, we are

connected in this wonderful dance.