I miss the dignity of an inauguration that included a poet like Maya Angelou. Hearing her read “On the Pulse of Morning” made me feel for a time like I, who wrote many poems back then, was actually somehow a relevant part of this nation.
You can’t love this place without making room for the ways we’ve scared it. Our injuries conjure forth its vitality, dispelling any doubt in its regenerative power. It is not only vulnerable, it is vulnerability, that is the nature of vital places.
To look into Cear’s eyes was to stare into your own soul. Once upon a time… there was child born into the world of dreams….