After many men
with grey hair,
a man with black hair
was president.
He had a beautiful voice.
And we saw a crowd
of maybe a million people
with flashes going off
above their heads.
The new president’s voice was slow.
It was like following a wave
all the way in to the shore.
And as the president’s voice
rolled over them
the crowd said, ‘Yes we can,’
and they withstood it.
And, as if the new president’s voice
was reaching some private place
that was theirs alone
and flooding it and it was flowing out,
a lot of them cried.
And as each wave washed over them
and was followed by another
and another
the tears were all that was left.
It was a mystery
how he knew what to say
and what was
pulling the words out of him.
I thought,
Something has happened.
There was the election
that chose him that was bigger
than any crowd
but for all these people to cry with joy
if that was what it was
or hope
if that was what it was
there must have been something.
I wondered if he was just the sign
of what had happened
or the thing itself
and whether this was history
or history was like the sea in which
as soon as it happened
all was lost.
