It’s Time, America: Go Vote
You know where things are the quietest?
Inside the voting booth.
In that whispered ellipses of a moment…
When hyperbolic turns hyperbaric and the pressure that’s been squeezing you for the past two years
the one you’ve felt as you watched us Jacques Cousteau our way
down
20,000 Leagues out of our league
metamorphoses to therapeutic.
And when that hyperbaric
turns hypodermic and the vaccination is ready?
When you can finally inject your own Jonas Salk voice
into the bloody, white, and blue of the America that you still haven’t lost hope in?
That’s when things are finally quiet.
Finally at peace.
It’s a deliciously powerful moment when you sign in
and suddenly
all the pretense and titles and bullshit is stripped away and you can stand
eye to eye and toe to toe
as equal as a child’s math equation
with all those silken ties and suits and lies, lawsuits and guys,
who so desperately want to snatch that pen that is mightier
out of your hand
before you roar in silence like a mute lion stretching
incisors with the flick of a wrist.
There’s no time to rest, it’s time to wrest.
There’s no fire without a spark and no Phoenix without ash.
These fractured shards can be remade into stained glass windows.
Are you angry?
Good. Now, use it.
Mad?
Good. Now, use it.
Scared?
Good. Now, use it.
Pump the bellows, stoke the flames.
We can be combustion engines or arsonists
But the choice lies with you.
You know where things are the quietest?
Inside the voting booth.
