This Morning

Yesterday we elected Barack Obama to be the 44th President of the United States of America — 389 years to the day since the first African slaves arrived on our shores. Maybe we’re starting to heal some of those longago wounds.

It is a strange thing:
to wake up and see the sun rise,
to know that its molten metal ascends over the lake,
to know the sun could care less
about what happened here while it was away.
The city rumbles on as if it were any ordinary day,
but the city has changed:
on its streets I see tired faces,
a metropolis of worn out colors.
This morning is different.
The people shine in their weariness and say to the sun:

“We are awake.
An obscure man from around here
has stolen our hearts —
and we are overjoyed.”