But only its people
It’s a shame that the sky in America is mostly drowned in light, the kind that comes from windows and not from burning balls of gas up in a black sheet sky. Because when we look up on a clear night, we think on how little we are, and at the same time born of a cosmos infinitely bigger than the biggest thing we know. We get to be confused about perspective and how “big” and “little” are all a matter of how you look at it.
It’s a shame that there’s not oceans everywhere in America. When you’re on the coast and you climb onto the rocks or settle into the sand like a little crab, the womb sounds of the ocean create a rhythm in your brain and it goes in and out and in and out, whoosh whoosh whoosh. You think in syncopation about how everything is like water and it will ebb into retreat and flow into power.
It’s a shame there aren’t mountains everywhere in America. When the coolness of the air settles into your skin and the smell of the earth into your lungs, you feel the calm that the earth keeps, at all times. You look into the distance and see the clashes of time and land that have created something momentous, and you remember that struggle is inherent in the ongoing movement of the planet.
It’s a shame that not everyone in America is in love. When you take off your shirts and wrap your soft arms around each other, you feel the realness and vulnerability of humanity, how we’re all just a sharp point away from blood. When you squeeze tightly, you acknowledge that what matters most is right here, looking into your eyes and taking in your breath.
It’s a shame that some people have never seen the desert in America. The silence, the silence covers sun-drenched sand that is decorated by bits of life and bits of death. The silence covers you, too. When you’re urged not to speak by something outside of yourself, the mind doesn’t think too hard on the bits of death in your eye line but darts from life to life to life, because we’re bred to survive.
It’s a shame we can’t all get away, during the times when we feel that we are the only ones and the endangered ones and the scared ones and the angry ones. But then we look around and remember that America is land, sea, air and sky too, and that only its people are depressed. The rest violently, gently, valiantly, unbelievably, inescapably, fundamentally lives on.