Every evening at seven p.m.
As dusk
delves
in —
the city, in muted mourning all day,
roars to life.
Our hearts swell with the sound.
Whoops and hollers from people on their balconies
and an old man banging his tin pan, alone on his tarred roof
Proof
of his daily devotion
released from his isolation, relief in their cheers
A church for our fears
Contained in the buildings on this brown city block.
it gets louder every night.
The hashtag is thanking healthcare heroes
but with every wave of sound, every whistle, every shout, every decibel sent out
i know it’s more than gratitude.
it’s an affirmation, confirmation that another day has passed
and we, we thankful few
are still alive —
We’re still here.
