I met two women in line today
at my neighborhood polling place.
Ana from Mexico City shines
when she tells me this
is her first time voting
in America
and she is hopeful,
she is scared,
she worries
that Estados Unidos is losing
its middle class like her beloved
Mexico where the thin sandwich
of wealth and stealth
from the poor
is the main meal.
Yvette from Vietnam,
clarifies that her parents
are Chinese,
she sparkles like moon
on black ocean
and tells us her dream
for our sad lost country
which must drop down
onto its knees
and dissolve the crust of arrogance
within and without
so the cracking world
can breathe easy and slow
with its heart full, vulnerable
and brave once again.
I listen to these strong clear women.
I sip good coffee from my neighborhood coffeehouse.
I am grateful walking forward
in the November morning,
dropping my ballot
through the narrow slot
inside the plebian cardboard box,
my voice resting on all our voices,
as I thank God
for these women,
these fellow citizens,
this dawning of tomorrow’s
sweet fragile possibility.
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